


Everybody Fucks at Weddings

by AnnaBolena



Series: 5 + 1 Weddings [1]
Category: 18th Century CE RPF, Hamilton - Miranda, Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Office, Excessive Coffee Drinking, M/M, Minor Disabled Character, Nobody knows, excessive historical name-dropping sry, is this hamilton or greys anatomy?, mention of dead loved ones, minor trans character, one night stand to coworkers help, some porn tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-18
Updated: 2018-06-08
Packaged: 2019-05-08 17:10:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 26,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14698668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnaBolena/pseuds/AnnaBolena
Summary: Purple-suit pays for a bottle of something fruity, takes it in hand. "I haven’t asked your name," he says. "Alex," he supplies, helpfully. Purple-suit nods, doesn’t introduce himself. Instead, he gives Alex a long look. "Well, Alex, are you coming along?"a.k.a. Alex's one-night-stand turns out to be the new head of marketing at his firm whoops.





	1. You simply must meet Thomas

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Hamilton work pls give me feedback I crave recognition

Coffee at the office isn't what it used to be. When Alexander started working here almost five years ago, straight out of college, he might add, the machine was something of a novelty. Now he watches as it _drips, drips, drips_ slowly into his mug, wasting precious minutes. Not that anyone else is particularly productive. It is a monday, after all. 

"Good _god_ Hamilton you look like you haven't slept a wink," the nasal voice of the company's VP refocuses his mind, away from the excruciatingly slow coffee-production in front of him. "Sleep is for the weak, Mr. Adams," Alex shoots back, throwing a quick glance over his shoulder to nod at him in greeting. It isn't the most clever retort he could have come up with, but so far he is only running on two espresso shots and for a monday, that really isn't enough. The three shots in his mug should tip the scales back to bright and alert, hopefully. 

"And how was the wedding?" Adams presses, seemingly insistent on small-talk today. Their usual routine consists of nodding at each other in mutual acknowledgement. Alexander understands very well that John Adams has illusions of being a _great man_ and really work runs much more smoothly if Alex doesn't directly shatter said illusions. Not that he has ever been the picture of self-restraint, but Alex is wiling to swallow down some of his more choice insults for Adams if it means he gets to run his department in peace. 

"It was nice, seeing everyone from the internship again. Reed's wife is pregnant now, can you imagine?" Alex sips his coffee, wondering how long Adams is going to draw out this conversation. Really, both of them should be getting back to their respective desks. "Esther is pregnant? Oh, Abigail will be quite excited when I tell her. Really, we should have them over for dinner again soon," Adams trails off, making plans in his head that are of no interest to Alex. With a terse nod, Alex leaves him standing in the break room. 

+

Alex manages to work in something resembling peace for just about two hours, until a different John comes strolling through the door. Really, the name range in their office is atrocious, hence the reliance on last names. "You know, a more polite man might knock," Alex chides half-heartedly, but softens completely when John tosses him a pastry bag and throws himself into the chair in front of his desk. 

"You still owe me the details from the wedding," John speaks as he chews, all of his gentle South Carolinian upbringing seemingly forgotten as Alex watches half-chewn cinammon rolls turn over between his teeth. "Can't believe they invited you and not me, the traitors."

"You went off to do your own thing before Ben joined the internship program, Laurens," Alex dismisses, always happy to talk with his best friend but nevertheless anxious to get back to work. "Don't you have somewhere to be? HR must be descending into chaos without your constant tribulations to further ethical employment."

"Can't stand to be there right now, Alex, they're all talking about the new head of marketing," John groans, fishing across Alex' desk for another cinammon roll. He doesn't quite have it in him to swat his hand away, although he watches the pastry disappear into John's mouth with some regret. They are very good, and he forgot breakfast today. 

"Jefferson, was it?" Alex decides to pursue that line of conversation as if he doesn't fucking know who will be re-joining the company today, because he isn't quite ready to discuss the more intimate details of what happened after the wedding yet. John saw the marks when he picked Alex up from the airport, they were hard to miss. Even now most of them have not faded, spattered across his body in various shades of the rainbow.  _Bilirubin and Biliverdin,_ the internet had told him when, out of sheer curiosity, he had googled why hickeys change colors before they fade. 

" _Jefferson,"_  John intones as he fans himself, mocking one of the women that supposedly fell prey to his charms when he went down to get his key card and personnel files in order. "Oh, he's so broad-chested, he's so tall, I bet he could lift me up with one finger. And that hair! Those eyes! I swear to God, Alex, if I hear one more word about that guy I will fucking drown myself in the Combahee River." 

Alex snorts into his coffee, a new cup by now, and dares to ask, "Well, aren't they right?"

"No, they are right. It's just that unfortunately he is a terrible knob," John sighs, leaning back in the chair he has annexed and closing his eyes. 

"That's right, you know him," Alex remembers. The subject of Mr. Jefferson returning to the United States after five years of absence to accept one of the most prestigious positions in the company has been beaten dead thrice over and frankly, Alex is sick of it. 

 _"All devastatingly rich people in America know each other," Hercules had whispered late one night at the bar when a drunk John had made it his mission to recount every instance in which he had borne witness to the sheer arrogance that is Thomas_ Iago Svidrigailov _Jefferson. Alex had chuckled into his beer and let John talk. "Calling the man a child molestor is a bit much, don't you think, John?"_

_"Yes, but Crime and Punishment is his favorite damn novel because of course it is and I just had to make a reference," John had grumbled._

One glance at his wristwatch and Alex frowns. "Well, time for me to go and see _Cruelle de Vil_ for myself, see if I can't find a villain-comparison that fits, because I seriously doubt the guy murders puppies in his freetime." John had been very liberal in calling upon Alex's expansive literary knowledge, searching for a villain that managed to capture the essence of this Jefferson, but thus far they have come up short regarding a satisfactory likeness.

John huffs out something that could be a laugh, muttering something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like _I wouldn't be too sure_. 

"You're welcome to hide in my office for the rest of the day. No need to face HR gossip just yet."

"You're a true friend, Alex," John calls after him, and Alex faintly registers the sound of the pastry bag being grabbed yet again. 

+

Edmund Randolph falls into step next to him on his way to the conference room, silently offers him a coffee, takes a deep swig of his own and gives Alex an exasparated look. "Washington is in a bad mood today." 

"I should think he ought to be glad now that his precious head of marketing has finally deigned to set foot on the continent," Alex jokes as he takes a sip of his coffee as well, delighted to find out that Randolph must have splurged on high-quality grounds from his personal office. Well, he supposes a man of his position can afford to. 

"Rumor has it Mr. Jefferson has already been causing too much of a commotion in HR," Randolph chuckles, "A ladies man through and through, it seems. Won't be long until he snatches one of them up."

"Sounds like you are spoiling for a bet regarding the non-fraternization policy, Edmund," Alex narrows his eyes, amused. 

"As a lawyer I don't gamble unless I know I can win, are you up to try and prove me wrong?" 

"Let me meet the guy first, I'll let you know by the end of the meeting." 

"Very well, Mr. Hamilton," Randolph chuckles as he holds the door to the conference room open for him with an excessive flourish. Alex replaced him as the new favorite intern when his contract ran out. After spending time with the sister company in London, Washington wasted no time getting him back into his grasp. _It does the interns well,_ Washington used to say, _to experience other companies before they make the commitment to ours_. Randolph is one of his preferred coworkers, even if their work rarely overlaps. It is always good to have someone in your corner during these meetings. 

"Ah, Mr. Hamilton, Mr. Randolph, come in, meet Thomas Jefferson," Washington gestures, tapping the shoulder of an unbearably tall man currently turned away in conversation with Mr. Knox and Angelica. Even when introducing someone, George Washington cannot help but give orders. He doesn't say, perhaps,  _have you met Jefferson?_ or even  _Allow me to introduce Thomas Jefferson._ But Alex's astute observations on the deliberate wording his boss employs to demonstrate his unquestionable power are interrupted when Thomas Jefferson actually turns around. 

Because Alex knows him. And Alex knows that the slightly yellow bruise peeking out from his shirt collar was made at around 3:30AM on Sunday. 

+

_"Alex," Ben claps a hand on his shoulder, smiling at him earnestly. "I’m so glad you could make it, although I must say I am surprised the old man let you off work."_

_"He was glad to see me out of the office for once," Alex jokes, self-deprecatingly, "And he sends his fondest regards." He turns to Ben’s newly-made husband and shakes his hand, extending further congratulations._

_The conversation is over quickly, the couple has too many other guests to greet to allow for prolonged talks. Hours drag on as Hamilton alternatively drinks and dances with old college friends. Joseph Reed recounts stories of their old shenanigans to his young wife. They got married a year ago and Esther is already pregnant. "-And then along comes this young little immigrant, fluent in five languages, and makes the rest of us look like absolute tools. He’s the only one that impressed Georgie enough to snag a permanent position right after the internship."_

_"Ben also would have had a position guaranteed if he didn’t wander off to Quantico," Alex dismisses, nevertheless preening amidst the attention. He raises a toast to Ben, who hides his head in his husband's neck. Here is a man who doesn't have to feign modesty. And it's damn charming, Alex thinks, to find it in someone so capable._

_"What is it you do exactly, Hammie?" John Trumbull, now an artist, asks into the group. Really, Alex thinks, he knows too many Johns. Not that he and Trumbull keep in touch too much, save for the occasional drink when he manages to get around to New York. It is much the same with the rest of their motley intern crew._

_"I run the finance department," Alex answers. Hell, he knows it is impressive for his age. But dammit he worked his ass of for this position. He deserves it. He deserves to hear the slow whistles of appreciation, the awed looks._

_"Impressive," Esther Reed smiles, patting her belly fondly, "But I doubt it leaves much time for family."_

_"Oh, are you married?" John’s wife gushes, "Did you bring your wife?"_

_Alex's throat feels tight for a second, obstructed by his reluctance to answer that question. He rubs his fingers together, awkwardly, before clearing his throat. The answer forces its way out and Alex excuses himself to head for the bar. It's always awkward to say something along the lines of, actually, Mrs. Trumbull, I am very much single because I can't for the life of me maintain anything resembling a healthy relationship._

_He is halfway through his next drink when something obnoxiously purple slides into the chair next to him and orders a cosmopolitan, of all things. The southern drawl is so heavy in his voice that Alex just has to risk a glance to the side. To say he is unprepared for the sight of this man is a gross understatement. Who even has a face like that in real life? Purple-suit raises an eyebrow at him, giving him a skeptical once-over. When his cocktail arrives he raises it. Even the gesture looks arrogant. "Groom or groom?" Alex asks, somewhat stupidly attempting to make a joke. Purple-suit chortles, takes a sip, then answers: "I know Caleb from work."_

_Caleb works for a shipping company, if Alex recalls correctly. "You know Ben?" Purple-suit shoots a question back. Truthfully Alex didn’t expect this to lead to a conversation, but, you know, might as well. As if he is about to pass up a chance to flirt with the hottest guy that has approached him in months. Not to say that Purple-suit approached him exactly, but the fact that he is willing to engage in a conversation makes Alex hopeful for more. "From college," Alex nods, "We met through an internship. He did law, I did Econ and Finance."_

_"A learned man, hm?" Purple-suit drawls, lips twisting into a smirk._

_"Ah, well, aren’t we all?" Alex takes a break by sipping his drink slowly. It is too early on in the conversation to shoot off at the mouth as he is inclined to._

_"It is wonderful how much can be done, if we are always doing,"  Purple-suit agrees, nodding thoughtfully as he stares at his drink. Alex resists the temptation to say something overtly on the nose like 'I'd like to do you' and settles on a safer approach to pulling off this seduction._ _"What is it that you do?"_

_"Marketing," he answers promptly, eyes still assessing Alex carefully, "Just got a new position back in the country, in fact."_

_"Oh?" Alex’s interest is piqued. "Where were you before?"_

_"Spent five years in France," Purple-suit says, almost reverently. Conversation flows easily after that. Purple-suit is surprisingly attentive when Alex starts babbling about his wish to visit France one day. He, in turn, talks in great detail about what living there was like. A drink or so later Alex loses the inhibition to restrain his words. It doesn't seem to matter because now, instead of counting his drinks he counts the smiles Purple-suit shoots his way. And it seems to Alex that they increase exponentially the more they talk._

_When the last call for alcohol comes about, both men are surprised to have spent two hours chatting away.  Although, what surprises Alex more is that he didn't completely dominate the discussion. Purple-suit held his own quite admirably and Alex has met maybe a handful of people who could keep up with him when he gets going about a passionate subject. There would be so much promise in this man sitting across from him, if Alex were in a position to offer him anything past a night of good sex._

_Purple-suit pays for a bottle of something fruity, takes it in hand. "I haven’t asked your name," he says. "Alex," he supplies, helpfully. Purple-suit nods, doesn’t introduce himself. Instead, he gives Alex a long look. "Well, Alex, are you coming along?"_

_Loneliness plays a part, of course, but this man isn’t just absurdly handsome, he has also proven to be of at least equal intelligence to Alex and that alone is enticing enough. Alex nods, following Purple-suit to the elevator unquestioningly._

_They land in a hotel-room that looks like it costs a month’s rent per night, including a balcony that overlooks the D.C. skyline. Purple-suit closes the door behind him, shrugs out of his obnoxiously colored jacket to reveal a white shirt that looks much better._ _Much gentler on Alex’s eyes._

_Alex notes how he hangs it up carefully, taking care not to wrinkle it.  He holds out the bottle of booze to Alex, an invitation. Alex accepts and watches as Purple-suit undoes his tie, letting it hang loosely over his shoulders. It is a good look. Mouthwatering, comes to mind.  Purple-suit snatches the bottle back, tips it upwards and heads out onto the balcony, toeing off his shoes as he goes, dropping into one of the seats._

_Alex follows, temporarily unsure of what Purple-suit dragged him here to do. He had been under the impression that they were about to have some standard single-at-a-wedding sex. And the way Purple-suit is watching him right now as he stands in the doorway to the balcony makes him think he might not have guessed wrong after all. Those brown eyes are filled with something like desire and Alex thinks that just might be enough. He shrugs out of his tux jacket, tosses away his bow tie, all the while hyperaware of Purple-suit’s eyes on him. Alex watches as his tongue darts out to wet his lips, luscious and soft-looking. He sees Purple-suit's throat bob as he swallows and knows they both want this. Perhaps that is exactly what he needs tonight. He takes a deep breath and steps closer. His hands don’t shake as he places them on the crisp white shirt to remain steady as he straddles Purple-suit. "Never asked for your name either," Alex murmurs, just before he takes the final risk and kisses him. Strong, large hands wrap around him and press him close as the kiss is reciprocated, languidly. Is he still holding the bottle? Alex feels it press against his back when he is pulled closer, but decides to focus on chasing the kiss instead of complaining._

_"Thomas," he supplies, when Alex moves onto sucking on his neck as he opens the shirt buttons. Thomas leans back, hands resting on Alex’s thighs, closes his eyes. His mouth drops open when Alex kisses down his chest, nosing the dark curls that lead down past his belt. Thomas doesn’t let him sink to his knees like he wants to, instead he pulls him back up to kiss him more firmly, more searchingly, with more fire. A skilled hand undoes the carefully constructed knot on Alex’s head, running through the silky strands admiringly. The noise he makes in the back of his throat is downright sinful and Alex feels it in every cell of his body._

_"Are we really doing this?" Alex asks, once his shirt is off._

_"Not on the balcony, I hope, but I thought we were already well on our way," Thomas teases._

_"Let’s go then."_

_And Thomas, in hooking his hands firmly beneath Alexander’s ass, stands up effortlessly, walking them all the way to the bed. And while Alex wants to commend him on his upper body strength because, wow, his thoughts quickly re-arrange his priorities._

+

God, he might have guessed it. Alex prides himself on his intelligence above every other skill. He has known for months that someone named Thomas was about to fill the marketing position in their firm after being away in France. Did the alcohol somehow worm its way past his blood-brain-barrier and completely destroy his associative cortex? How did he not make the connection? 

Thomas has just about finished shaking Randolph's hand when he looks at Alex and their eyes meet. The recognition is instant and it makes Alex want to run and hide. But that has never been his style, so instead he steels himself, straightens his back and extends a hand. "Mr. Jefferson? Alexander Hamilton."

And Thomas, no, Alex corrects himself, henceforth he will only be known as Jefferson, shakes his hand perhaps a bit too firmly. His mouth says nothing but the way his eyes catch on Alex's lips for a second say everything else. No chance that he might have been drunk enough to forget they've ever met. 

The meeting is loud, Jefferson has no problem asserting his perceived right to demand and demand and demand. Alex, because obviously he caught none of Jefferson's business ideas while they were between the sheets, argues back viciously. Perhaps he should have asked beforehand, because how can one man be so obnoxiously wrong?Christ, Laurens was right. 

Randolph catches him by the elbow when the meeting is adjourned, raises one eyebrow suspiciously, asking for an answer to his earlier proposition. And Alex, who still keenly feels the imprints of Jefferson's nails on his back, snorts bitterly when he considers that Jefferson might break HR rules over a woman. 

"You know what, Edmund? I think I'll take you up on that wager."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Facts for those who wanna know:  
> \- The 'interns' described in this chapter are all aides-de-camp or secretaries that washington had over the duration of the war, in this chapter including: John Trumbull, Edmund Randolph who later became Attorney General, A dot HAM obviously, Laurens too, Joseph Reed, later a congressman  
> -The gay couple getting married is Ben and Caleb because it seems I really cannot write a fic in which they do not at least appear. Benjamin Tallmadge ran secret intelligence for Washington for several years and then became a congressman. Caleb Brewster was a courier in his spy ring and his childhood friend. He later became a part of America's first coast guard. But because of his time on the black market and privateering-habits during the war, I gave him a shipping job in this, not that it really matters.  
> -TJeffs did spend a peu près five years in France, but lets be honest everyone who reads this has listened to Hamilton at some point so y'all know this shit.  
> -Thus, the members at the meeting are the four members of GWash's cabinet + his VP, the very punchable John Adams, and, because this is a modern AU, Angelica Schuyler, everyone's fave bigger sister  
> -John Laurens died in the battle of the Combahee river folks, rip in peace my sweet gay turtleboi  
> -"it is wonderful how much can be done if we are always doing" is one of the few TJeffs quotes I actually like, dude studied up to 15hrs a day can u imagine??


	2. What did I miss?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas deals with the mess™ his life has suddenly become + some flashbacks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New drinking game idea: Take a fucking shot every time I mention a character named John in this, I dare you. I double dare you.  
> Also this chapter contains one or two pretty devastating coffee puns, so if you can't take that, please consider yourself warned.  
> Thank you for all the wonderful comments on chapter 1 you guys, my heart sings with joy whenever I see a new one. Pls keep them coming. Also, fair warning, I only speak French with my mother so, u know, my French dirty talk is sub-par at best and fucking cringy at worst.

 

A lot of things about working in the office are exactly as Thomas remembers. When he left- _god has it really been five years?_ \- the coffee machine in the break room was what their then head of department for finance, Mr. Franklin, considered to be the height of technology. Looking at it now, Thomas thinks it seems a rather sad contraption, almost overworking itself to produce unsavory sludge. He makes a disgusted noise that causes a random intern to nearly jump out of her skin and promptly feeds the machine's emissions to the drain. No, this will not do. 

Mr. Jay did a tolerable job running the marketing department in his absence and Thomas is grateful that he does not have to spend days or possibly weeks sorting through files to understand the man’s schemes. John Jay was a very tidy man, if perhaps a bit uninspired and sometimes contradictory in his marketing methods. Thomas cannot for the life of him make out a clear and consistent strategy, but that's what he is here for now, right? This is his chance to steer W & A Insurance back onto the right path. 

He even knows most of the people working with him, from back when. Only the interns are new in his department, and he avoids them as best as he can while he gets settled. So really, he thinks as he clocks out to go and get something that deserves to be called coffee, coming back should not feel this disenchanting. And Thomas doesn’t understand why everything feels so foreign about the office now.

Small lie, that is. He knows exactly why everything has changed. _‘Mr. Jefferson? Alexander Hamilton.’_ He has gone through that conversation about fifty times in his head that first day alone. If someone had told Thomas that the person whose financial plans he came to thwart would be the person he spent fucking into the mattress at a mutual acquaintances’ wedding, he would have laughed and said that even he didn’t deserve to be punished this way.But here he is, painfully aware of what his new nemesis looks like beneath those beautifully tailored suits, knows what sounds he makes, knows that if he were to whisper a few choice words he would have Alexander Hamilton grow weak at the knees. None of those things make it any easier to argue with him though. Hamilton is a damn spitfire, winning most of his arguments through sheer volume, overloading his sparring partners with an obscene amount of information that no normal human being can process quickly enough to formulate a logical retort. He blows them all away, like a goddamn hurricane. 

He had called Adams, when he thought about accepting his old job, had made inquiries about newcomers. _‘Bright kid, talks a big game, works like he won’t see tomorrow, but unfortunately his plans for the future of the company are disastrous. Washington likes him too much to rein him in though.’_ Thomas never saw a picture of Hamilton, never thought to ask for one. Why would he? And _some people_ might say that numbers cannot lie, that Hamilton’s  (Because let’s face it, Thomas can’t very well call him Alex, the implications are too heavy for the both of them to be comfortable with.) budget plans have nearly doubled the company’s profits. That's what the numbers say, but numbers alone cannot predict the future. There are a million more intricate components that have to be considered when trying to secure a company's future, and it seems to Thomas that Alexander Hamilton ignores them all for the sake of ensuring the company has a favorable turn. Mr. Jay might have run the marketing team with such an abysmally small allocation, but Thomas absolutely will not.

And if people have learned to accept Hamilton’s annexation of power and agreed to blindly follow the path he carves out, then it seems Thomas will have to be the one to pull the wool from their eyes, he decides with resolve as he walks into the nearest coffee shop. It takes just about two seconds for him to want to leave again because right as he enters, John Laurens looks at him.

Thomas honestly doesn’t know what he expected. They have mutual friends, Gilbert being the primary one, so of course he knows that John returned to work for Washington three years ago. He never really asked for updates of John outright, but the determined little Marquis had guessed quite astutely that he would have wanted to know anyway. John Laurens, twenty-seven, more freckles than stars in the sky, happy in a long-term relationship. Thomas had been ecstatic to hear it, even if he had been careful to avoid him at work. If he thought he would be received favorably he would have sought him out. He doesn’t know what he expected to see in those eyes after over five years without any contact. Burning, incandescent rage was not the first guess that came to mind. At least, he thought it might have somehow ebbed over the years. Thomas is caught in the moment for a second, unable to look away from John. It's almost as though Laurens is challenging him, daring him to say something and see if it won't land him in the emergency room. And Thomas considers greeting him, considers asking for a do-over. 

That is, until he sees whose shoulders John has his arm slung around.

 _‘John Laurens? Oui, I know him, he is, uh, how you say, liaised with another friend of mine, quite happily. Like, uh, is it Puppy Love? I think that is what they call it’,_ Gilbert had said. Gilbert had also said, _‘Bien sur j’ai rencontré Monsieur Hamilton. He was a very good friend to me in my time in America.’,_ when Thomas had asked if they had ever met the man.

As if to prove the horrifying realization that Thomas just had, John pulls Hamilton, still facing away from Thomas as he orders, close and presses a possessive kiss onto the top of his head, staring Thomas down. He hears Hamilton make a happy, surprised noise. He watches Hamilton lean into the touch, further cuddling into John. Thomas watches the barista make an adoring comment. John dismisses Thomas without a word, turns to the barista and engages her in conversation.

God, he feels sick, enough to make him turn on his heel and flee the establishment before his guilt eats him alive.

+

"I need to talk to you," Thomas hissed at Hamilton as he passed him on the way back from the bathroom, "My office." Hamilton had narrowed his eyes at him, suspiciously, but nodded. That exchange happened almost an hour ago and Thomas has spent just about that long alternating between pacing the length of his office and re-reading e-mails he already responded to, just for something to do.

Eventually, there is a knock and now Alexander Hamilton stands in his office.

"I told you to come see me an hour ago," Thomas puts considerable effort into not sounding too petulant.

"And I have actual work to do, Jefferson, so if you have something to say, say it." Hamilton crosses his arms, staring him down. "Have a seat, Hamilton," Thomas gestures. A short battle of wills in which neither man wants to break their stare results in an excessively pointed eye-roll from Hamilton and the squeaking sound of a chair being dragged out from under the desk. "Why am I here? If this is about the budget plan, you know that the first chance for you to contest it is in over three months-"

"You might have told me you were in a relationship before you followed me to my hotel room," Thomas cuts him off, watching a whole arsenal of emotions take turns being center stage on his face. Say what you will about his genius, Alexander Hamilton is not very good at hiding how he feels. Anger at being interrupted. Surprise at the topic. Confusion. This is the first time they have acknowledged the night that hangs between them like a thick blanket of fog, preventing any productive interaction. But no shame to be found anywhere. Thomas feels sick. 

"Excuse me?" Hamilton finally stutters out, and Thomas would be inclined to buy into his sincerity, if he hadn’t witnessed the exchange in the coffee shop.

"I saw you with Laurens today," Thomas continues, fiddling with the pen in his hand.

"How is who I spend my time with any of your business, Jefferson?" Hamilton asks, eyes borderline feral.

"You made it my business when you straddled me and took my shirt off," Thomas retorts, glancing towards the door as if waiting for someone to bust through it and accuse them of breaking company policy. "When that gets out Laurens will blame me for ruining his life, _again_."

He hadn’t meant to say it, hadn’t meant to allude to the events of his own engagement party, seemingly half a lifetime in the past. But that isn’t what Hamilton responds to. His eyes blow wide and Thomas can see that he is struggling to contain a temper to be reckoned with. It didn't take long to become acquainted with Hamilton's volatile emotions. "And why," he presses out, face turning red, "Would anyone find out?"

"These things have a way of getting out," Thomas mutters darkly, hand ghosting over his neck where up until a few days ago he _felt_ the souvenirs  Alexander Hamilton left on him.

"Mr. Jefferson that sounds suspiciously like blackmail," Hamilton’s voice is low and forcibly calm. Thomas is momentarily fascinated. It is almost like he can feel Hamilton’s rage across the room like a buzz in the air on a hot summer's day, waiting to break out, shatter his composure. Their stares hold for a while longer. Hamilton pushes his chair back, angrily, and storms out of the office before Thomas has a chance to assure him that, no, it wasn’t supposed to be.

+

James waits for him at the restaurant they agreed to meet at, already perusing the menu, glasses perched low on his nose. "Are you wearing a turtleneck in May?" James asks Thomas without looking up. "Let me live," Thomas responds darkly, taking a seat across from him. James is dressed somewhat more classically fashionable, in a dark suit with a light blue shirt. 

"You are the one that called me because you needed _an opinion,_ Thomas, so my opinions you shall have," James sets the menu down, takes a long look at Thomas, sighs. "Alright, you look constipated, what is it?"

"I had sex," Thomas blurts out, relieved to finally be able to tell someone. Not that he has many confidantes in the first place, not for years. 

"When do I get to meet them?" James leans forward, mildly interested now. Fair of him to assume the proclamation of intercourse was a way of leading the conversation into a budding relationship, but alas Thomas cannot leave him in the dark. 

"It was a one-night-stand," Thomas explains, ready to get into the whole mess of it, but James sees fit to interrupt him again. As a writer, he claims he does it because it fleshes out the story more. He needs details that Thomas doesn’t think to give when he recounts these events. "Thomas, you don’t have one-night-stands. You don’t even have sex. Not since Martha." Well, once or twice, admittedly. But never quite as casual as with Hamilton, that is true. Never without even a slip of commitment. 

"My God, Jemmy, you’ve really outdone yourself with my characterization this time."

"Don’t patronize me, Thomas, it is unbecoming of you when I am just trying to understand. What did they do to get you in bed?"

"I was drunk at Brewster’s wedding, felt lonely when I saw how everyone was paired off. Saw him sitting by the bar, sat down next to him with the intention of pining away a little when he turned his most charming smile on me and left me helpless to do anything but smile back. We talked for over two hours, James, and it was incredible. I'll spare you the actual details of what happened between the sheets." Thomas puts a stop to his own rambling as the waitress brings drinks to their table that James must have ordered, pushing a cosmopolitan towards him. Memories resurface. Thomas tries to push them down, fails, relents and takes a sip.

"So, it was a one-night-stand but you do not want it to be? Have you got his number?"

"It has to be a one-night-stand," Thomas shakes his head, unsure why his chest suddenly feels tight.

"And why is that?"

"Because apparently I work with him, and Washington is very hard on policy-violations since the whole Arnold debacle." That doesn’t seem to matter much to James, who simply raises an eyebrow as if to say ‘ _there are more insurmountable obstacles’._ Thomas takes a deep breath, steels himself for the very visceral disgust about to flash on James face and continues, "And because he is in a committed relationship with John Laurens."

"No," James groans, running a hand over his face, pushing his glasses to the top of his head to rub his eyes, obviously exhausted.

"I didn’t know," Thomas defends his actions, trying not to yell. "I saw them together at a coffee shop by accident this week and it sort of fell into place in my head."

"I can’t believe you are about to ruin that poor man’s life again," James groans, "As if outing him wasn’t bad enough."

"It was an accident and I have apologized over and over again. Believe me when I say I feel terrible about what happened."

"I always believe you. But what matters more is if John Laurens will believe you. My guess is no. Can’t believe Herc would cheat on John, and with you of all people too, he knows how much John despises you."

Hold on.

"Herc?" Thomas asks, backtracking.

"Yes, actually, I am good friends with him and have the pleasure of calling Hercules by his nickname."

"Who the fuck is Hercules?" Thomas whispers, caught between a mix of hesitation and relief. 

"John Laurens is dating Hercules Mulligan, the tailor on Pearl Street," James repeats, as if Thomas were dumb. Then realization settles on his face. "Is that not who you slept with?"

"I don’t even know who that is," Thomas insists, "I slept with Hamilton." Just two minutes ago he thought it would be impossible to say these words and feel relieved that they are true. 

Now James bursts out laughing. "Oh thank god. I was about to castigate you without regard for who hears. I've been building a whole diatribe in my head."

"John isn’t with Hamilton," Thomas repeats, as if to wrap his head around the whole matter. "Why would he kiss him?"

"Did you watch them make-out?"

"No, but," Thomas fishes for words, "They were really close, and when John saw me he pulled Hamilton close and pressed a kiss to his hair, all territorial. Hamilton leaned into it. It looked authentic. And the little gremlin didn't correct me when I confronted him."

"Are you really surprised that John feels the need to seek out comfort when he sees you again after over half a decade?"

"No," Thomas says again, still reeling in the aftermath of finding out that Hamilton really is single. God, what an ass Thomas must have made of himself when he called him to his office.

"You're overthinking,Thomas," James sighs, flagging down the waitress to order food. "Don't tell me this means you'll be pursuing Alexander?" 

"There is still the company policy," Thomas dismisses, ordering something for himself that will make him feel better. If Laurens needed comfort earlier today, then Thomas does now. "Besides, I slept with the guy before I knew who he was, and how he runs his damn department."

"Adams made a comment on that, yes," James nods, "Monroe was a bit more scathing when we met up for lunch. Said something about Hamilton running the company to the ground, said that he is secretly trying to get the company back under Hanoveranian control."

"Monroe always had a creative mind," Thomas allows, "Do you think there is any substance to it or is it all smoke and mirrors?"

"I don't have the proper business knowledge to make definite statement on that, but I trust Monroe's judgement." 

That makes one of us, Thomas bites his tongue. "But you have a writer's intuition, James, which is worth a lot."

"Too much influence is always dangerous, especially in the hands of someone so cunning," James shrugs, digging into his freshly arrived entrée. Thomas follows his example. 

"You look like you're dying to get something out," Thomas prompts, annoyed at James' constant attempts to begin a sentence only to cut himself off before a single word ever gets out. "Dolley wants a child, Thomas," he finally manages to get out. 

"Oh," Thomas eloquently responds, almost dropping his fork. "But you're-"

"In a fucking wheelchair and as sterile as a surgical knife, yes, I know," James grits his teeth, obviously frustrated and torn. And here Thomas has been talking about his own problems like they were all that mattered. He might have asked earlier. God, he's a terrible friend. 

"Well, do you want one as well?"

"I would love to have children, Thomas, if it weren't for the fact that no matter how long she keeps the cock ring on me, I can't ejaculate." James' voice is unusually loud, considering they are in public. This must really be getting to him. 

"Did you know, Thomas, that because I am paralyzed just at the Th11 component of my spine, I still experience erections with proper stimulation, but because ejaculation is controlled exclusively in much lower regions, I can never hope to achieve it and it all ends up flowing into my damn bladder?" Thomas didn't know, and truthfully he didn't care to know. But here they are, both unhappy with their detailed knowledge of James' sex life. 

"You've done a lot of research on this, James," Thomas swallows, hating to hear James talk about his experiences in such a disparaging manner. "And I don't doubt you've researched the many options concerning children as well. You never do anything without careful consideration. I mean, I'm talking to the guy who spent a week looking for a coffee receipt because I didn't pay you back."

James manages a tentative smile. "It wasn't about the money, it was a matter of principle. You claimed I never paid for that coffee."

The two old friends share a fond smile as they remember days gone by. Back when Martha was alive. Back when James could walk. Both men have remained close through their losses. 

"So, have you considered it?"

"Have I considered what?"

"Adoption, James," Thomas prods, gently. 

"Dolley has considered it. I have," he pauses for a second to look for the right word, "Reservations. I wouldn't exactly be the greatest help raising the kid."

"Jemmy, dearest, that's your insecurity talking. I've always known you'd be a great father."

James is quiet for a second, as if collecting himself. He reaches an arm out to squeeze Thomas' hand. "It means a great deal to me that you think so, Tommy." 

Thomas goes to bed that night thinking about children he might have had, if Martha hadn't been taken from him so soon, if things had been different. It isn't exactly a pleasant respite. 

+

"Hamilton," Thomas calls after him when he sees the man step off the elevator, on a determined path to his office.

"Not now, Jefferson," Hamilton dismisses angrily, "I haven’t had any coffee yet, don’t test me." Despite his small stature he packs quite a bit of momentum, knocking past Thomas when the taller man tries to stand in his way.

"Coffee machine is broken," he calls after him when he sees Hamilton make a beeline for the break room. He suppresses the smile on his lips when Hamilton lets out a comically loud screech of frustration and slams his office door. It’s kind of adorable, he thinks, to see a part of that simmering rage boil over. In small doses, that is. The full extent of Hamilton's rage is deadly and Thomas doesn't dare evoke it outside of the meetings where Hamilton can't bribe their colleagues to forget they ever saw a body. _'You must be out of your goddamn mind'_ , he remembers quite clearly from the meeting on his first day, when he had tried to justify that his department needs more funds. 

"Good morning, Angelica," he greets the woman waiting in his office cheerfully. The Schuyler family has history with his own. He has known Angelica most of his life. Angelica is one of the few people he consistently kept in touch with over the years. 

"Thomas," she nods in return, going back to studying whatever file she was busy reading before.

"Is there a reason you grace me with your presence?"

"My sisters are in my office, I am hiding." Her reply is a little clipped, but Thomas knows that it is because she is engrossed in her work right now. 

"I thought you liked them," Thomas snorts, taking a seat and turning his computer on, trying to figure out what was on his agenda for today. 

"I do like them," Angelica agrees. "But Eliza has been trying her darndest to convince me to take a break and visit our father again. Now she has involved my dearest Margarita as well, and I really cannot indulge them until I have sorted through my correspondence."

"How is Peggy these days?"

"Much happier since the legal hassle of the name change ended," Angelica tells him nonchalantly.

"I am glad to hear it," Thomas nods, hesitates, then asks, "Is that the sort of thing one offers congratulations for?"

"Not that I know, Thomas, but I’m sure she won’t rip your head off for the gesture."

"Well, I best catch the loveliest Schuyler sister for a short reunion before she disappears across the world again. Do continue to make yourself at home."

"Mr. Jay was always a touch more forthcoming when I visited him."

"Because, like every unfortunate man that you meet, he probably melted into a sickly little puddle whenever you glanced at him." Thomas retorts, pushing the thought of work back for a few minutes. His schedule will have to take it. 

"I would never do that to Sarah, we’re good friends."

"You can’t help being charming, Angelica, no one thinks it is with malicious intent," Thomas calls out as he closes the door.

+

"Do my eyes deceive me or is that Miss Margarita Schuyler?" Thomas interrupts the merry conversation going on in Angelica’s corner office, voice accompanied by a cheerful knock on the door. Really she got the best room, two complete walls of windows and so much space. Peggy’s head whips around as she smiles, lovelier than ever. "Thomas," she walks towards him and puts her arms around him, squeezing him tightly. It is an odd feeling indeed, to hug her and feel the contours of breasts against him instead of a bony chest.

"Haven’t seen you in ages, you France-loving fuck, how have you been?" 

"Well enough," he answers, before looking at the person previously hidden by Peggy. He had assumed he interrupted her and Eliza. Instead, Alexander Hamilton glares at him, tapping his foot impatiently. Just as Thomas is about to open his mouth to apologize, the door bursts open.

"One quadruple-espresso latte with cinnamon for you, Alex, God, how do you drink that stuff?" The last Schuyler sister, the one he expected in Hamilton's place, breezes into the room with posture that makes Thomas unconsciously straighten his back as well. 

"It is the only thing that makes me happy on days the coffee machine gives up on me," Hamilton retorts, reaching for the coffee and pressing a kiss to Eliza’s cheek. Thomas doesn't miss the color that shoots into Eliza's face. "Now I really must be going."

"Hamilton, wait," Thomas calls after him, "I have to talk to you."

"Not fucking now, Jefferson," Hamilton retorts, not bothering to pause or even look at him as he leaves the office.

+

Thomas has had a favorite coffee shop for years. As he was searching for an apartment in New York City upon his return, he might have taken 'The revolutionary coffeenant' and its location into consideration, just a little bit. 

"Quadruple espresso latte?" The owner of said shop, now about two minutes on foot from his apartment, looks at him like he just asked her to chew glass, "Since when do you drink that?" Thomas thinks her name is either Anna or Anne, the last letter of her name tag is too faded to recognize. She is responsible for his ability to come into work alert, unlike some people he knows. Her locally-sourced ingredients are incredible and Thomas has tried himself through her whole variety without ever being disappointed. The journey to discovering his favorite took quite a while. 

"I don’t," he huffs, "But I need to butter someone up."

She makes a very understanding face. "Anything else I can get you besides your usual order?"

God, Thomas is loath to add the following words, but he does anyway, muttering, "Can you add cinnamon to the latte?"

He watches the barista snort, but she winks at him and promises she’ll do just that.

"Tell me if they like it, might add it to the menu if that's what the people are craving these days."

"Oh, no, trust me, he's very much alone in his esteem for this particular combination."

+

Hamilton doesn’t look up from his desktop until Thomas slides the coffee meaningfully across the table, a peace offering. It makes a screeching sound as it goes. The door was open so Thomas took the liberty of strolling in without knocking. Hamilton stares at the drink, narrows his eyes, looks at Thomas, scowls. "What’s this?"

"The first part of an apology I am hoping you will let me get through without dismissing me like you did the last few times."

Hamilton’s mouth drops open. Before Thomas can make a comment about certain fish-like qualities of his expression, he shuts it determinedly, reaching for the coffee. It's a start. Almost like a stray cat, he sniffs it, overly careful. Then he takes a sip, accidentally releasing an absolutely delighted noise that brings back very vivid memories that Thomas really does not need right now.

"What, did you stalk me or something? This is my order exactly, but _better_."

"Are you going to listen to what I have to say?"

"Sure. But don’t think this means I am susceptible to bribery under any different circumstances."

"When I confronted you two weeks ago I was under the wrong impression that you had cheated on Laurens with me. The exchange of words that followed lead to you assuming I intended to blackmail you, and I apologize for not clearing up the misunderstanding earlier."

"Christ, you practiced that in front of the mirror for like ten hours, didn’t you?" Hamilton pinches the bridge of his nose. He is spot on, but Thomas resents his tone, so he doesn’t give him the satisfaction of an answer. "I accept, in any case, the coffee alone is worth forgiveness, but it is a shitty apology."

"I thought it was rather succinct," Thomas challenges.

"On what _grounds_?" Hamilton sips his coffee, mollified and smiling at his little joke. "You’re not apologizing for snooping into my private business. You’re not apologizing for basically making me assume I was being threatened. All you’re apologizing for is not telling me you didn’t mean it earlier, when really I figured that out about a day after our last conversation."

"Ah," Thomas responds, annoyed now, "Of course the great Alexander Hamilton has already got everything figured out. Perhaps I shouldn’t have bothered."

"No, no," Hamilton responds, airily, "I appreciate the gesture, but really, revealing what happened in D.C. would dig you in deeper than me, especially where Laurens is concerned on account of me knowing full well that I am not dating him at all."

"I hate you so much," Thomas rolls his eyes, making to get up. Hamilton shoots out of his seat and crosses over to Thomas’ chair in the blink of an eye, stops his movement with a hand on his arm. Thomas hesitates. "That’s not what I remember," the little gremlin has the gall to say, in something of a whisper. Thomas tries not to look at him, knows that if he meets Hamilton’s eyes now the little shit will be able to read very clearly what effect he has on him. "What do you remember? We were, after all, both quite drunk."

Thomas thinks he has himself under full control when he slowly turns his head to look at Hamilton, casually leaning against his office desk, arms crossed as he considers Thomas. Hamilton smirks, leans forward in a way that makes Thomas thinks he plans to kiss him. The door to his office is wide open, he would never-

" _Oh god, Alexander_ ," he whispers into Thomas’ ear, pitch and drawl a perfect imitation of what he sounded like that night. There is a wide variety of expletives and praise that Hamilton could have chosen from, but these words are deliberate. Both of them know it, as Hamilton leans back, smugly, to observe Thomas’ reaction.

He can’t take it. Thomas stands up and abruptly leaves the room. Point for Hamilton. 

+

_Alex stares up at him when Thomas throws him on the bed after hurrying him in from the balcony, perhaps a bit over-eager with his desires._

_His eyes are dark with lust in a way that Thomas has never really seen before, practically begging him to take action. He does not hesitate, climbing onto the bed and towering over Alex’s much smaller form as he considers what to do first. He decides on kissing down Alex’s chest, like the younger man did earlier, taking his time in getting to the belt._

_"Sure you know what you’re doing there, Thomas?" Alex laughs, breathlessly._

_"Some patience might do you good, Alex, makes the eventual gratification so much better," Thomas snorts, recognizing the hypocrisy as he knows his own patience is wearing thin. The belt buckle gives in to his long fingers all too quickly and Thomas takes a second to take in the picture Alex makes on the bed as he slides his suit pants down. He would fold them, really, proper suit etiquette demands as much, but seeing as how the impatient little man has already carelessly thrown his jacket onto the floor in a heap he doesn’t bother. Alex would probably mock him for it, if he did. And Alex makes too fine a figure for him to waste any time on proper suit etiquette anymore. He is a small man in stature, of course, but more compact than frail, if he had to find a word to describe him.  His body is well-proportioned in itself, it speaks of strength and Thomas admires it perhaps a little too long. Enough for Alex to get uncomfortable, blushing a dark red color that looks absolutely lovely. "It’s rude to stare," he squeaks._

_Thomas laughs, catches Alex’s lips as he leans forward, seeks to disperse any worries. "I was admiring you."_

_"You’ve already got me in bed and willing to go, no need for further flattery," Alex whimpers as Thomas’ teeth graze his neck, testing out what he likes. This will go on the list, it seems. "Je suis sincère, mon chaton, tu peux me croire," Thomas whispers, switching into French because it flows more easily from his tongue, and because he doesn’t expect the man beneath him to understand. It seems to affect Alex, either way, and Thomas watches with glee as goosebumps break out all across Alex’s skin. What he doesn’t anticipate is that Alex will turn his own game on him. "Appelle-moi chaton une fois de plus, je te défie," he gasps angrily when Thomas sucks on his neck, marking him up for the days to come. It’s very good French, but the pronunciation speaks more of some DROM-COM or other, perhaps the Caribbean. Nonetheless it makes Thomas shudder with pleasure. It seems tonight he will discover quite a few things about what both of them like._

_And Alex is very compatible to his desires, Thomas finds out when the young man’s hips buck up in anticipation as Thomas begins teasing the area around his pelvis with his tongue. Alcohol gives him previously untapped courage to experiment, and Alex seems all too willing to subject himself to his inquisitive mouth. "Thomas," he sighs, "Just-Yes, right there."_

_Thomas hasn’t ever had a bedmate this vocal about what he wants, or this responsive in general. Alex comes alive beneath his hands and lips and Thomas relishes every second he gets to make him squirm. When his lips finally do wrap around a throbbing, painfully erect cock, Alex doesn’t bother suppressing a drawn-out, tortured moan. "Can I, uh," he stops, "Can I touch your hair?"_

_And Thomas isn’t a fan of people touching his hair, has never enjoyed when people, most notably female HR workers, pat it. Inevitably it leads to annoying descriptions like ‘poofy’ or, worse, ‘like wool’. But Alex asks, and really how could Thomas deny him anything when he looks like that? Writhing beneath him, face and chest flushed, mouth hanging open, Alex looks divine and Thomas wants to spend hours just staring. It does something crazy to him when Alex’s small fist reaches into his hair and tugs. Thomas lets out an unholy moan around Alex and the vibrations in turn make Alex sputter. They feed off of each other, escalating in passion and rapidly spinning out of control._

_"Alright, alright," he pants, "If you don’t get in me now I’m about to bust right into your gorgeous mouth and with the alcohol I’m really not sure if I can go again soon enough."_

_Thomas’ mind spins at the implications, but he nods, pushing Alex’s legs up so that he can get to preparing him. "You wanna do the honors?" Alex asks, breathless but willing to go along with what Thomas has in mind. "I want to worship you," Thomas croaks, voice still raspy from swallowing Alex down. "I’m not about to decline, Thomas, but I insist that you let me return the favor, mon chèr, oh dieu, oui, doigte-moi," Alex gets the words out between several gasps that let Thomas know he is exactly on the right track. He is all too willing to comply with Alex’s request, so once he has fished the lube from out of where he stowed it in his bags, along with some condoms that Alex provides, he probes a first finger. Alex whines, face screwed up, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood._

_"I want to hear you, mon chaton, no need to be quiet," Thomas tells him softly. It makes Alex laugh, even as another moan escapes him. "Would you believe people usually beg me to be quiet?"_

_"Not in this context, I’d bet my life on it," Thomas chuckles, then dives back in to dart his tongue inside of him along with his finger. "I can take more, Thomas, please, je t’en supplie, je t’implore," Alex begs, trying to gain more by pushing against Thomas’ fingers as he inserts a second one. "Yes," Alex hisses through clenched teeth when Thomas teases a third finger, his other hand snaking up Alex’s chest to tweak his nipple, teasingly. He wants Alex to lose control, just like he will, once he gets inside of him._

_"God, you’ll still be damn tight, Alex," he breathes against Alex’s apparently very sensitive inner thigh, when the impatient nymph above him pleads again. No one has ever begged for him this way before. It has never been this purely physical before and the whole experience burns Thomas from the inside out. Martha was- Oh no, there is no way he will think of Martha now, so he forces that thought down, dives back in and brutally thrusts his tongue into Alex’s open and ready hole, drawing more beautiful sounds out of him. He can’t get enough. This one time won’t be enough._

_"I don’t care, let your cock stretch me the rest of the way, come on, Thomas, baise-moi," he demands, although, in his state of need he really isn’t in the position to demand anything. Thomas digresses, rolls the condom on, positions himself at Alex’s entrance, waits. Alex opens his eyes, confused. "I want you to look at me when I take you, Alex, mon chaton. I want to watch your eyes blow wide when you feel me inside of you. Will you do that?" Why has Thomas never discovered the joy of dirty talk before today?_

_"Yes," Alex breathes out, hands pulling Thomas close, lips searching for contact. When Thomas does slide in it is dangerously close to being over right then and there. No ass has any business being this good. Unbelievable. Both men shudder, claw at each other for more contact. The need to be closer envelops them as Thomas draws out only to rock back in again, building a rhythm that steadily increases. Their eyes hold but as their combined pleasure grows it becomes harder to. It is too much stimulation at once, to be in Alex and watch his eyes reveal every morsel of pleasure he receives, so Thomas buries his face in Alex’s neck, unleashes a guttural groan when Alex’s hand finds his hair again. "You want me to go harder? Tell me how you need it, Alex," he pants against a hot neck, wet from all the kisses and bites Thomas has already placed there. "You’re perfect, Thomas, mon chèr, just, don’t fucking stop-"_

_"Oh, god, Alexander," Thomas screams, unable to stop himself. His orgasm rushes through him, he feels his whole body shake as he struggles to hold himself up on top of Alex. "Touch me, Thomas, please," Alex whimpers, hips canting up to chase some of the friction, "I’m so close."_

_It takes all but three strokes until Alex spurts little white ropes all over Thomas’ fist and their abs. Thomas collapses on top of Alex, neither man particularly caring that they are still joined._

+

Flashes of that night haunt Thomas for the rest of the day, enough that he cannot concentrate until he sneaks off to the bathroom. He is so certain that everybody knows what he makes the trip for, feels judged even though he knows they cannot possibly guess. Alexander Hamilton gets under his skin too much for it to be feasible that they spend time alone together. Not when he still plans to uproot Hamilton’s budget plan.

This hopeless infatuation has to end. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The facts  
> \- B. FRANKS the playa is the dude who Ham replaced, which is historically super inaccurate, but he wrote the book 'the way to wealth' and was overall a pretty neat little nerd, so I thought it fitting to mention him. Also I love the Ben Franklin portrait on american currency, those judgy eyes have seen things, y'all. Have a look, guys.  
> -John Jay was Secretary of State until TJeffs came back from France, he was married to Sarah Livingston, daughter of William Livingston, political ally-turned-rival of one A dot HAM. Also, John Jay was a very sick boi, in the medicinal sense. Ethically speaking he was more of a controversy since he headed the society for manumission but owned slaves.  
> -Benedict Arnold is history's most notorious turncoat, and maybe or maybe not I'll decide to slip in a few more nuggets about him in the following chapters.  
> -King George the Third was of the House of Hanover, peep the reference to the revolution and weep at my subtlety  
> -James Monroe was JEFFMADs virginian prodigy when it came to answering Hamilton's storm of 'anonymous' essays, like who do u think u r fooling, boi. Monroe was also the historically accurate confronter in 'WE KNOW' and then spilled the juicy deets of Hams affair to his homie TJEFFS. Also became the president after Madison.  
> -JMADS was known to be sort of a hypochondriac. He had no biological children. His wife, Dolley, bless her the dear, and he were a happy little couple. They did end up adopting a kid.  
> -PSA: Regarding the 'range of activities' when someone is paralyzed at Th11, it goes as follows: Erection is controlled by multiple stimuli across a broader spectrum of the spine, in this case James is able to have what one calls reflectory erection, but not a psychogenic erection. That means he gets hard through physical stimulation only, hence the cock ring. Because the connection to the brain is interrupted, when the physical stimulation ends, so does the erection. Believe it or not the cock ring is a professionally recommended and viable 'therapy'. Regarding the sperm: In this case you have to differentiate between emission and actual ejaculation. Emission is the release of sperm from it's place of production into the 'corridors' leading up to the shaft, simply put. Ejaculation is the actual act of getting it out, and that is usually not as possible. In some cases Emission is inhibited which leads only to a few droplets of ejaculate, or sometimes sperm production is fully inhibited. In other cases emission works fine, but the pathways to ejaculation are blocked and it flows into the bladder instead. Tl;dr: Every case of paralysis is different, yo. This is what I decided James would have in my story. I hope you enjoyed this brief medical excursion.  
> -Anyone wanna guess which historical Anna or Anne is the coffeeshopgirl?
> 
> The FRENCH  
> -LafBEAR says: Bien sûr j'ai rencontré which means Of course I have met-  
> \- DROM-COM stands for: départements et régions et collectivités d'outre-mer, so territories that aren't french mainland but belong to France, like La Réunion close by Africa. Notably, Nevis does not belong on that list, but some Islands in that area do, like St. Martin, and really TJEFFS has no way of knowing which precise island the little gremlin hails from so, pls forgive his ignorance  
> -TJEFFS calls AHAM mon chaton, which means kitten  
> -AHAM calls TJEFFS mon chèr which is fairly basic bcause Alex is deffo not as prone to get super attached to his one-night-stand, not like poor closet-romantic Tommy  
> -"Je suis sincère, mon chaton, tu peux me croire," -> I mean it, my kitten, you can believe me  
> -"Appelle-moi chaton une fois de plus, je te défie," -> Call me kitten one more time, I dare you  
> -dieu oui -> god yes  
> \- doigte-moi -> finger me AHAM u filthy boi  
> \- je t’en supplie, je t’implore -> I beg of you, I implore you  
> \- baise-moi -> fuck me


	3. Can you get us out of the mess we're in?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Local idiot distracted by handsome immigrant, unable to do his work properly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Take a fucking sip of this quadruple-espresso latte w cinnamon babes  
> Also I hope u're fucking ready for the angst-fest this fic is about to become ulululu
> 
> Brain: Add another John.  
> Me: There's like five of them in this already.  
> Brain: did i fucking stutter  
> Me: y tho  
> Brain: u gotta

"I swear to God, Alex, I am attracted to idiots. The guy at the front desk asked me what the French word for _baguette_ was and I was halfway done with taking my blazer off before I realized we were in public." Thomas watches as Eliza stands with Alex in the break room, both sipping on coffee she brought over and waiting for the lunch she brought as well to be done in the microwave. Alex snorts, chokes on his coffee. Thomas stores it away as _disgustingly adorable_ and continues drowning out Adams as he recounts his weekend.

A few vague sounds of interest and one or two nods in between keep Adams sufficiently occupied. Really, Thomas is fond of John Adams, but recently his mind has been increasingly preoccupied by one A dot Ham. It is frustrating, to say the least, when he finds himself losing track of his thoughts mid-sentence because Hamilton bites his lip while concentrating on taking notes. Or when he runs into him and John Laurens as they laugh about something together and Hamilton throws his head back, silky strands of hair framing his face beautifully, and Thomas thinks that he would like to be the one to make him laugh. 

The worst incident happened approximately a week ago, when Peggy was visiting the office again and brought strawberries. Thomas received a snap on his phone of her and Alexander, strawberries sucked into their mouths, cheeks hollow, with the caption ' _Do u know da WAI_?' If Thomas didn't think that ' _the joke was too hilarious not to save_ ' would be the flimsiest excuse in the world, he would have screenshotted it. 

So Alexander Hamilton has become a terrible distraction, no matter how expertly Thomas tries to avoid him. By now he has given up, hence the slightly creepy way he is now observing his interaction with Elizabeth 'my casual wear is still more effortlessly elegant than your best outfit' Schuyler. 

Eliza started bringing coffee for Thomas as well now that she knows he is back for good, and that woman is a national treasure, but right now he wishes she wouldn't lean in quite so close when she giggles with Hamilton. 

And well, if she is indeed attracted to idiots, it should lift some of the reluctant jealousy off of Thomas’ chest because that means no attraction to Hamilton would ever be feasible. Right? Watching her hand smack his chest playfully when he whispers something under his breath, cheeks reddening, Thomas isn’t so sure anymore. Hamilton is many things, but idiot could never be counted among them.

Not that Thomas hasn’t done his utmost to make him look like one during what Washington now euphemistically calls his ‘cabinet meetings’. _"The intention, Gentlemen, was never to turn this into a  vicious debate. I called on Hamilton to present his financial plans, not for Mr. Jefferson to bombard them. Nor did I wish for you to attack him in return, Mr. Hamilton."_

Over a month ago, that exchange happened. They haven’t gotten even a bit closer to agreeing. Thomas threatened more than once to quit if Washington will do nothing to stop Hamilton from spinning out of control. Washington relented and told Hamilton that he expected the two of them to come to some sort of compromise. " _I cannot run a company if my two most important men fight each other like over-eager foot soldiers_ ," he had yelled at them, like a disappointed parent. As a man always plagued by the after-effects of a few too many spells of sickness suffered in childhood, his sentences always appear rather chopped and he often has to cut his statements into smaller portions. Angelica had decidedly thrown herself into Washington's corner, and the rest of those present had been glad to state that they would be willing to accept whatever compromise Thomas and Hamilton came up with, as long as they didn't have to watch them work it out. " _Three hour meetings, George, really, how does that make for a productive work day? I had this scheduled for 40 minutes."_ Thomas had heard Henry Knox complain. Honestly, how is Thomas attracted to this infuriating little man?

Washington has been in a constantly foul mood ever since that meeting. Charles Lee, the unfortunate man, bore the brunt of that anger and requested a few weeks of personal leave after he was chased out of Washington’s office with the words ‘ _You damned Poltroon, you never tried them_ ’ echoing around the bullpen. In general the atmosphere in the office is tense, and Thomas is too distracted by his adversary to come up with a way to trick him into giving up more than he wants to. A vexing conundrum. 

Thomas is quite lost in thought as he watches Hamilton flirt with Angelica’s younger sister, so much so that he doesn’t notice said older sister stroll into the break room until she waves a pretty orange envelope in his face. He takes it, startled, and asks what it is.

Wordlessly, Angelica holds out her hand, where a fat diamond ring sits proudly. "No," Thomas gasps, admires it, "When did this happen?"

"Like two weeks ago. Jesus, Thomas I’ve been trying to be subtle about it, but it really seems like you will not notice anything unless I shove it right in your face," she beams. Ah, so other people have inevitably picked up on his mental absence. 

"I’m very happy, for you, honestly. Church must have spent a fortune on it, god, how many carats is that?"

It’s all in good fun, John Baker Church, Angelica’s prospective husband, is very well-off. Christ, why is every second person he knows called John? Angelica laughs, pulls him in for a hug, then looks at him sternly. "But in all seriousness, what has you so distracted?"

Right then Hamilton decides it is time to butt into the conversation like anyone asked him to contribute. Not that anything ever stops him from saying his part and more. "He’s too busy trying to find non-existent flaws in my financial plan, aren’t you, Jefferson?"

"On the contrary, Hamilton, finding every single mistake is the time consuming part," Thomas shoots back, automatically. Insulting and trading barbs with Hamilton has become second nature in the months that he has worked here. No amount of distraction would throw a wrench into that well-oiled mechanism. His eyes drift to the respective orange envelope in Hamilton’s hand, and he is acutely aware of Hamilton’s eyes following his line of sight. Thomas glances up, their eyes meet, caught in mutual remembrance of what transpired at the last wedding they attended. Then the moment is broken as Hamilton opens his mouth. Naturally. "Save yourself some time and nerves, Jefferson, and just sign the damn plan."

"God, do you ever shut up?"

"And here I thought there was no need to be quiet for you," Hamilton teases, eyes glinting and Thomas keenly feels his ears go red. Alright, if Hamilton wants to play dirty, then so be it. The words they exchanged that night are still very, very fresh in Thomas’ mind as well. "Do me the favor this once, hm? _Je t’en supplie_."

Thomas takes great satisfaction in watching Hamilton swallow, quite audibly. He doesn’t retort anything else, instead pretends to acquiesce, and bows out of the room quickly. Point for Thomas.

+

"Sir?" There’s a hesitant young man standing in the door to his office, unwilling to enter until Thomas looks at him. "What can I do for you?" Thomas puts down the document in his hand, folds his hands, sighs, and looks up. Who the fuck is this kid? "I was told to bring you these documents, uh, but I-well," the boy stammers, weakly holding up the stack of paper in his arms. "Spit it out, what is it?" Thomas grows slightly annoyed. "I just wanted to say that these words don’t reflect my opinion of you but Mr. Hamilton insisted-"

"What’s your name, kid?"

"Wolcott, sir, Oliver Wolcott," the kid responds, adding a ‘jr.’ at the end hastily.

"And I take it you’re the intern Hamilton has been saddled with?"

"Yes, sir," Oliver nods, profusely.

"Mr. Jefferson will do just fine, Mr. Wolcott," Thomas waves a hand, distractedly, "Let’s hear what Hamilton has to say."

"Well he said to give you this and to tell you that, ahem, well that if you wouldn’t agree to this edited proposal of his financial plan that you could, uh, go fuck yourself, and, if you weren’t willing, he would _do the honors_. He was very specific about that last part."

Thomas stares at this Oliver Wolcott Jr. for a hot second, mouth agape. Then he bursts out laughing. "Alright, hand it over." The kid stops his nervous shuffling, transparently surprised by Thomas’ reaction. "Close the door on your way out," he dismisses. The intern is only too eager to escape.

_Hamilton,_

_Terrorizing me by proxy now, are you? What did poor Wolcott do to deserve that humiliation?_

_Best regards, Thomas Jefferson, Head of Marketing, W & A Insurance_

He shoots off a quick e-mail to Hamilton. It is amusing, he has to admit, watching the young man squirm.

_Jefferson_

_Brought me a single espresso shot latte because ‘four shots of espresso really isn’t a sustainable lifestyle, Mr. Hamilton’. Forgot the cinnamon too. I have an itemized list of twenty – nine similar or equally grave offenses thus far._

_A. Ham, you know who I am, why do you feel the need to add your rank and title to your signature when e-mailing me? Compensating?_

_P.S. I’m serious. I’ve made changes to the financial plan so see if you can take it. You know what to do if you can’t._

Thomas snorts, imagines how terrifying Hamilton’s glare must have been when the kid messed up the order so badly. He calls for his own intern, a young man from Switzerland called Albert Gallatin, and orders him to go and fetch the coffee order he writes down for him and bring it to Mr. Hamilton, forthwith. Albert looks more than a little reluctant to be relegated to coffee duty, he’s one of the more senior interns, but he doesn’t complain. Not in English, that is. If Thomas understood Swiss German he probably would have bristled at whatever " _Geh in die Vereinigten Staaten, ha'm se g'sagt, da lernst' was für's Leben, ha'm se g'sagt_ " means. Thomas usually lets Albert's foreign ramblings slide, because when Steuben recommended him, he hadn't been kidding about his competence. And finding good interns is a long process of trial and error that Thomas is glad not to have to deal with as long as Albert doesn't feel like leaving. 

_Hamilton_

_It seems you cannot even train your interns properly. How did you manage to convince Washington to give you that position of yours if you are so clearly incompetent? Looking over the plan now, readying myself to take it apart._

_Thomas Jefferson_

_P.S. the ‘title and rank’ as you so eloquently put it are a default setting, you imbecile. We both know I have nothing to compensate._

And if it is a little risky to send that last part, he doesn’t beat himself up over it. It is worth it to imagine the sputter of indignation on Hamilton’s face, followed by pervasive redness on his cheeks. Cute. 

 

"Come to see me personally this time, Mr. Hamilton? What an honor," Thomas grins as Hamilton barges into his office an hour later, coffee in hand, frustrated.

"Thanks for the coffee, asshole. Have you finished reading the plan?"

"Hamilton this is 98 pages," Thomas stares at the overactive man pacing his office, staring at the folders on his shelves, scanning every part of his office and making Thomas severely uncomfortable with his presence.

"And?"

"Nobody reads that fast," Thomas sighs, rubbing a hand over his eyes. "Hamilton, perhaps five espresso shots is your breaking point, hm? Have some pity on those of us who function like normal human beings."

"Five is weak. By now I’m pushing nine," Hamilton responds, moving on to stare out of the window, "Wow your view is much nicer than mine."

"Nine?" Thomas repeats, concerned.

"Sent that stupid intern out to get me a proper coffee, that time he delivered. And then Albert came along with your bribery coffee that is somehow even _better,_ but I swear to god he still resents me for swiping his alcohol at the Christmas party last year. Where do you get the coffee? It’s clearly artisan."

"If I tell you will you allocate more funds to marketing?"

"Fuck off," Alex dismisses with a wave, "Blackmail only works for apologies, I thought I made that clear."

"Worth a try," Thomas shrugs, "This plan is still a waste of my time."

"Jay made it work."

" _Jay_ was a lawyer and had little head for marketing. Good organizational skills, sure, but no vision," Thomas shoots back.

"And you have vision?" Hamilton wants to know, craning a head over his shoulder from his position at the window. Thomas has turned his chair around to watch him, as part of his very time-consuming new habit. 

"Actually, I do," Thomas sighs, leaning back and folding his hands over his stomach. But Thomas has suffered under the yoke of men like Hamilton in France as well. Admittedly, none of them got on his nerve quite the same way. None of them were as efficient. None of them could match his wit and stand against him.

"This is the first I’m hearing of it," Hamilton frowns, turns to face Thomas fully.

"Because you never listen to what I have to say, your overactive mind is too busy trying to run circles around everybody else," Thomas dismisses. Hamilton’s eyes crinkle a little at the analogy, he probably takes it as a compliment.

"You know, I looked at all the work you did in France." He volunteers that bit of information randomly and Thomas tries not to feel too flattered that Hamilton looked him up. It doesn't mean anything. 

"When do you find the time?" Thomas wonders, genuinely curious, because how can one person do quite so much without breaking down? When does he sleep? When does he stop? Does he ever stop?

"Toilet breaks, mostly," Hamilton answers nonchalantly. "Your marketing strategies appeal very well to very well-off people because you come across as somewhat of an elitist, Jefferson. If you look at the demographics PR provides you would see that we have no need to spend more money on marketing towards the very rich, which is why I will not allocate more money to you. It would be a waste of your efforts and our funds."

"I am not elitist," Thomas protests, although he supposes that Hamilton might have a point. "Say I find a strategy that appeals more to your kind of folks. Will you reconsider this outrageous piece of shite plan?"

"I’ll reconsider," Hamilton agrees, nodding thoughtfully.

"That’s not particularly reassuring, if you pardon my saying so."

Alexander’s gaze turns on him, thoughtful and somewhat heated, and he stalks closer to Thomas, who instantly regrets having allowed Hamilton into his office in the first place. " _Je suis sincère, mon chér, tu peux me croire,"_ he whispers, hands on the armrests of Thomas’ chair, leaning in teasingly. Thomas feels his breath catch in his throat. He feels his mouth go dry, almost closes the short distance left to kiss Alexander. The open door urges caution. Hamilton observes his inner struggle for a while, close enough for Thomas to take in his smell, another unwanted reminder of the night they spent together, and then grins before saying his goodbyes. Dammit, point for him.

When he started keeping score, Thomas does not know. He gets no work done in this state of mind and promptly decides to just go home.

+

Angelica’s engagement party is a full event, already quite exuberant when Thomas shows up with James. James knows Angelica’s fiancée, thus was invited along with most of Thomas’ colleagues. Including, it seems, John Laurens, currently being pulled towards them by a man that James seems to recognize.

"Ah, Thomas, this is Hercules Mulligan, the tailor I’ve been telling you about," James introduces them, omitting a verbal addition of ‘you know, the guy I thought you slept with for like five minutes’. Hercules introduces himself with a reluctant smile, which Thomas reciprocates. "John," he says, stiffly, to the man holding hands with Hercules and pointedly looking anywhere but at Thomas, lips drawn in a thin line.

At the mention of his name, John whips his head around to look Thomas in the eye. Thomas only hopes he can see the sincere regret in them, doesn’t know how to phrase an apology he has made a thousand times in a thousand different variations.

"Plantagenet," John vomits the word out, clearly drunk off his ass. It sounds like an insult, but if it is, it is one that Thomas does not understand. John takes the opportunity to stalk off, pulling an apologetic-looking Hercules after him.

+

It’s just about one in the morning after Thomas has put a very tired James in Dolley's van to send him off to bed. The party is drifting to a close, it is a Thursday, and they’ve all got work tomorrow.

Hamilton sits by himself at the bar, checking his phone with genuine interest. Thomas sighs, slides into the seat next to him, and orders a cosmopolitan, for old times’ sake. 

"Oh no, we are not doing this again," Hamilton stops him before he can say anything, "That cosmopolitan is not a segue for you to hit on me."

"You’ve had quite a bit to drink, have you?" Thomas raises an eyebrow. Alexander’s eyes are a little glassy, and he makes a vague hand motion that Thomas supposes is meant to convey ‘eh, lightly buzzed’. "Did you know alcohol gets you drunk because the ethanol binds to glutamate and GABA receptors at the same time, suppressing quicker reaction to stimuli while simultaneously, actively slowing down your brain functions?"

"No, I didn’t," Thomas retorts, slightly amused, "Is that what you’ve been researching on your phone for the past ten minutes?"

"I like knowing stuff," Hamilton gets a bit defensive.

"Well, then perhaps you’ll be able to explain why John Laurens just called me _Plantagenet_ like it’s supposed to be a curse word?"

Alex snorts out a laugh, reminding Thomas of just how accurate ‘little gremlin’ is upon hearing the slightly malicious undertones. "John and I have been playing a bit of a game since we heard you’d be coming back to take your old job. Or rather, I have been helping John play a game. Didn’t think he’d let you in on it."

"Care to enlighten me?"

"He’s been comparing you to every literary villain he knows and seeing which one fits the best. Last night or so we found Richard Plantagenet, the third Duke of York."

"Are we talking Shakespeare's version or the real one?" 

"Whatever floats your boat, I'd guess," Hamilton smiles, then quickly looks away at his drink. 

"How does he fit me?"

Hamilton takes a deep breath, followed by a deep sip. "You really wanna know? Not my fault if it makes you cry."

"Humor me," Thomas prods him.

"Arrogant, born into one of the most influential families in the country, long stint in France that lead to a somewhat questionable obsession with the country, willing to grab power from an ailing King because he felt his lineage gave him the right to and he couldn’t imagine that anyone could lead the country better than him," Hamilton supplies. Thomas lets out a slow whistle, takes a sip to process everything Hamilton just implied. Is that really what Hamilton thinks of him?

"Does that make you Henry VI?" He wonders, trying to lighten the mood. Hamilton barks out a short laugh.

"I don’t know, I usually consider myself more of a Henry VII, if I’m honest."

"A bastard?"

"He was not a bastard, you scoundrel, and neither am I. False propaganda."

"And did you consider that Plantagenet might not actually be a villain after all?"

"Of course you’d see it that way," Hamilton shakes his head, but his eyes betray that he is eager to hear Thomas justify himself.

"The Wars of the Roses aren’t exactly my preferred field of study, so feel free to correct me if I am wrong," Thomas disclaims, a bit unnecessarily, because Hamilton gives him a pointed look, as if to say: ‘When do I _not_ correct you?’ "But England’s power was waning, yes? After previous victories at Agincourt they were losing one French territory after another?"

"Yes."

"And would you say that Richard Plantagenet abused his power? If I recall correctly, the historical figure was quite adamant about not being crowned King, he was very loyal to his ruler. He saw no other option for England to maintain her position unless he took charge. Granted, he might have been too blind to see that there could have been other ways, but really doesn’t that make him more of a tragedy than a villain?"

"You see yourself as a tragedy?" Hamilton asks, leaning onto his elbow, staring up at Thomas, slightly concerned. Thomas smiles. "We’re talking of historical figures now, Alexander," he muses.

"Then let’s talk about you, Jefferson," The refute is pointed. Thomas doesn’t know why he slipped back into first name basis. That is not where they stand. "You should learn from history and consider that there are other options."

"I am considering. I thought we had an agreement about me figuring out a way to market the company towards ‘the common folk’."

Hamilton says nothing for a while, staring into Thomas’ eyes as if he is searching for something. If only he would say what, Thomas is sure he could help him find it.

"What did you do to John?"

"Pardon?"

 "You’re arrogant, sure. I’ll hold to that until my dying day. You’re elitist, you’re borderline insufferable in your need to get what you want. But how does that warrant almost ten years of silent treatment?"

"John didn’t tell you?" Thomas asks a bit nervously, fiddling with his drink.

"Not for lack of trying to get him to," Alex huffs, "He only says that people don’t see you for who you really are and you like it that way because you benefit from it. But he knows, something like that. John only talks about you when he’s hella drunk."

"Is that often?"

"God, he nearly talked my ear off about you on a weekly basis when Washington announced your return," Alex recalls, fondly.

"Have the two of you ever- uh," Thomas clears his throat, well aware that he has no business asking. But the curiosity is there. Hamilton glances at him, sideways, sly grin on his face. "Have the two of _you_?"

_"John, snap out of it, come on, you’re drunk," Thomas pats his friend’s cheek a little, trying to get John’s eyes to focus. He takes in those thousands of freckles, resists the urge to trace his thumb across every one of them. God, John even has freckles just above his lips._

_"Don’t marry her, Tommy," John whispers. "Don’t marry Martha."_

_"What?" Thomas asks, confused, leaning in closer to make sense of John’s words._

_"You can’t marry her, Thomas, you’ll break my heart."_

_"You’re in love with Martha," Thomas thinks he realizes. Martha and John are close. She’s only two years older than John. They hang out, they have fun together. The three of them spend a disproportionate amount of time together. Oh my god, it all makes sense now. "Why didn’t you say anything, John? I would have never- God, I would have never forced you to be here tonight."_

_"’m not in love with her, Tommy," John denies, hand clutching Thomas’ shirt for stability. His eyes are wide, glassy and pleading with Thomas to understand. He doesn’t. "What then?" Thomas breathes out, just before John makes a frustrated sound in the back of his throat. Then he stumbles into Thomas, kissing him. Thomas is frozen to the spot for a second, unable to comprehend that John Laurens is kissing him, much less so that Thomas feels something like relief unfurling in his heart. And then he throws caution to the wind and begins kissing John back, snaking his arms around him and pulling him close, pressing their bodies together until there is nothing but John, John, John. They break apart, both in dire need of catching their breath. John’s fingers are holding on to Thomas’ jacket for dear life. There’s a storm in his eyes, a turmoil of emotions ranging from ecstatic, young excitement and confusion as well as panic._

_John lets go of him, pulls away. One of them turns on his heels and bolts._

"No," Thomas shakes his head, taking another sip. "Could have, but no."

"Why didn’t you?" Loaded question.

"Not here," Thomas looks around the bar. Hamilton gets up, pats himself down a little. "Well, Thomas, are you coming along?"

"You’re not driving like that, give me your keys," he says before Hamilton cuts him off with a charming laugh. "Glad to see you are concerned. But I live in the same building as this bar, so really, there’s no need."

+

He isn’t sure what he expected Hamilton’s apartment to look like. Judging by the way he keeps his files in the office, he would have thought the apartment would be a whole ass mess. In a way it is. He sees an entire wall covered in shelves that are steadily overflowing with books, seemingly strewn haphazardly about. Piles of books with hundreds of colorful page markers are beginning to build on the floor in front of the shelves due to lack of space. But the more Thomas looks the more of a system there seems to be, one he cannot possible hope to grasp but one that seems to work for Hamilton. The rest of the apartment is acceptably clean. A contained storm, so to speak. Hamilton pushes his shoes off, tosses his jacket onto the couch, offers Thomas a hanger for his and Thomas doesn’t quite know what to make of the fact that Hamilton seems to know he was just about to ask for one.

"Wine?" Hamilton asks, already slouching towards the kitchen. He doesn’t wait for an answer as he stands on his tip toes to try and retrieve the glasses from the higher shelves. The kitchen is very open. His cabinets are more like shelves than proper storage. Thomas follows Hamilton and hands him the glasses, easily. Hamilton mutters something that sounds like _thanks,_ the tips of his ears turning pink. 

Hamilton bends down to get a bottle of wine and Thomas has to actively look away from the curve of his ass because that is _not_ what he came here for. Could it be though? 

But Hamilton is already on his way back to the couch, fiddling with the cork on the bottle and making a few very soft curses. He plops down on the couch, allowing space for Thomas as he comes by with the glasses. They are silent as Hamilton pours, silent as he nudges one glass towards Thomas, silent as they look each other in the eye.

"You might as well talk, Jefferson, what are you waiting for?"

"Sorry," Thomas mutters, clearing his throat. "John kissed me at my engagement party."

It’s a loaded statement, and he wants to give Hamilton time for that whole bit of information to sink in. But Hamilton makes a sound of realization and then stares at him for the longest time. "Oh my fucking god. You’re the guy that outed him."

Thomas bites his lip, looks at the floor, tries to look at anything but Hamilton.

"It seems you know the story after all. Spares me the shame of reliving it."

"John isn’t mad at you for outing him, Thomas," Hamilton says softly, reaching out a hand as if to comfort Thomas and then thinking better of it. The hand hovers in the air for a while, uncertainly, but then it drops back to the couch. "Christ, we’ve talked so much about the guy that outed him, and we talked so much about you. I can’t believe I never made the connection. I’m supposed to be smart. Can you believe it?"

"Can’t imagine what else I’ve done to offend him, but I’m sure the list is endless," Thomas frowns, pretending to closely inspect his fingernails. 

"He’s mad you didn’t come out along with him," Hamilton blurts out.

"Pardon?"

"John’s father overheard your confrontation when you asked John why he kissed you, right?"

Thomas only nods.

"He needed your support that day but you distanced yourself by going the ‘oh no, I’m not gay’ route when you clearly kissed him back with unfeigned enthusiasm."

"Oh," Thomas makes a small sound, feeling like he has had the rug pulled out from under him. "Why did I never think of that?"

"Probably because you were engaged to a woman and definitely still wanted to marry her?" Hamilton raises an eyebrow, smiling.

"I suppose," Thomas sighs.

"Why aren’t you out?" Hamilton asks, finishing off his glass before getting up to retrieve pretzels from the kitchen, tossing them to Thomas with astounding precision.

"I’m out to James," he explains, "I’m out to you on account of having been buried in your ass, but everything else is, uh, well it’s hard."

"It was hard for John as well," Hamilton counters, temper flaring up a little but making an effort not to turn this into an argument. He makes an effort to listen. Thomas feels something warm blossom in his chest when Hamilton looks at him like that, willing to understand him. 

"I know. And really, in this day and age it shouldn’t be a problem. It just feels like if I come out now people will think that my marriage to Martha was a scam, that I was using her as a beard, or that she was unhappy or something akin to that and I don’t want people to remember what we had that way."

"Oh," Hamilton says now, nodding. "You know, no one is saying you’re exclusively attracted to men? There are in-betweens."

"Of course there are, plenty of them," Thomas agrees, "And I’ve figured out where I fall well enough, I’m just not ready for the world to see it."

"Fair," Hamilton acknowledges, "Though I doubt John will speak to you until you do come out."

"Well, what’s a few more years?" Thomas laughs bitterly, "Not like he was one of my closest friends."

"Everything makes so much sense now," Hamilton muses, stretching languidly on the couch, toe pushing against Thomas’ knee as he does. Thomas’ hand reaches out to grab at his ankle, and both men freeze a little when contact is made.

Thomas looks at Hamilton for a while, sees the desire. He is fairly certain Hamilton can read him like a book as well, in this instance at least.

"We could-" Hamilton starts, cuts himself off.

"Yes, we could," Thomas agrees. He desperately wants to. Just the thought of touching and being touched again like that makes his insides burn and his hands sweaty. "But we shouldn’t."

"A one time lapse in judgement is understandable. We didn’t know who the other was. But a second time-" Hamilton gestures.

"Second time makes it feel like a habit in the making," Thomas agrees, nevertheless keeping his eyes locked on Alex. _Alex_ sounds so much better than Hamilton, he thinks wistfully. It sounds soft, like a promise, like harmless teasing and banter on a couch at two in the morning. But Hamilton, Hamilton sounds like spewing venom in a boardroom, sounds like ruthless exposure to often unwarranted criticism. In his head Thomas just can’t connect the two sides of the man in front of him to make a complete picture. They don’t fit together. They don’t agree. It has been the cause of many a headache for him. 

" _Dieu, mais j’ai envie de toi_ ," Alex vents his frustration, tossing his head back as if to curse the heavens. Thomas feels the beginnings of arousal stir within in, plotting to overtake his good sense. He looks at that neck, practically offered up. He remembers running his tongue over the smooth skin, remembers enjoying the way it made Alexander's breath hitch.

" _Je pense à cette nuit, à toi…_ " Thomas trails off when Alex’s eyes return from the ceiling to look at him with renewed passion. " _Tout le temps_."

And perhaps it is because of the French that these confessions don’t feel real, that it feels alright to tell Alex these things. "Damned if I don’t feel exactly the same," Alex says quietly, more to himself than to Thomas, it feels like. "Doesn’t mean your policies aren’t shit though."

"Never said it did, _mon chaton_ ," Thomas muses. They hold their stares for a few more minutes before Alex stands up and clears his throat.

"Bed or on the couch, Jefferson, choose your fate. And I won’t be in the bed with you if that is what you choose, just in case you thought the choice was too obvious," Alex tells him, breaking whatever moment happened to just develop between them.

"Don’t think I’ll fit in your bed, you little gremlin. I’ll try my luck with the couch, thanks," Thomas dismisses.

"My bed is delightful, thank you very much."

And if Alex leaves the door to his bedroom open, that doesn’t mean it’s an invitation. Does it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The facts:  
> -Oliver Wolcott Jr. was treasury secretary after Ham, and he was appointed by John Adams so in this case he is obviously not good enough for AHAM.  
> -Albert Gallatin was a little swiss fellow appointed by TJEFFS as treasury secretary and became the longest running treasury secretary in US history, from 1801-1814. Don't know if he ever knew the great Baron von Steuben, but u know, when you have two characters that speak German u automatically connect them in ur head. Also, please look up Gallatin's wiki page, it is worth the read and his picture is hilarious. I feel the pervasive 'are you shitting me' look in his eyes.  
> \- I love Henry Knox my dudes, self-taught military man with a triple-chin and super kind eyes. He died because he swallowed a chicken bone, like u do, and got an infection from it. What a guy, folks.  
> -GWASH actually did directly chew out Lee after the battle of Monmouth with the words 'You damned poltroon, you never tried them' which is a naughty word for idiot and was made all the more powerful because GWASH was very adamant about the fact that gentlemen don't curse. Lafayette recalled that event as one of the most glorious moments he ever witnessed, I am not even kidding. Poor, incompetent Lee :D  
> \- ANOTHER JOHN. John Baker Church was Angie's husband, quite rich. They lived in London where he served in the house of commons. FUN FACT: Church also had a duel with Burr u guys, but in 1799. Can u believe it? Burr is such a mess.  
> -Ethanol does some strange shit in ur brain guys. Did you know it takes up to 30 days after getting drunk for ur body to fully recover from alcohol consumption?  
> -The historical shit: Referring to Shakespeare's works Henry VI, part 1-3 and Richard III, a war of the roses Tetralogy. If you really want a VERY GOOD AND EXCELLENTLY RESEARCHED resource on the Wars of the roses, for god's sake please read Conn Iggulden's wars of the roses series it is so damn good and I loved every damn second of it. Do yourself the favor.  
> -The Marthas: Both Laurens and TJEFFS were married to different Marthas, and for the sake of drama I decided to make them the same person in this one. I actually have this cracktheory that turtleboi didn't actually get Martha Manning pregnant, and married her because they were friends and she needed her baby to be legitimate and its not like John ever planned on actually marrying a woman he wanted because he was super duper gay? Like, the dude never once saw his child or visited his wife, but they exchanged letters, which, when you compare them to other couples really scream more of friendship than love???? SO???? My personal headcanon. 
> 
> THE GERMAN  
> \- "Geh in die Vereinigten Staaten, haben sie g'sagt, da lernst' was für's Leben, ham se g'sagt" is German with an accent which translates to: Go to the US, they said, you'll learn some life lessons, they said.  
> THE FRENCH  
> \- 'Dieu mais j'ai envie de toi -> God, but I want you.  
> \- 'Je pense à cette nuit, à toi, tous le temps' -> I think about that night, about you, all the time awww TJEFFS u romantic little idiot.


	4. And there you are, an ocean away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex gets a bit in too deep with Thomas and Thomas does damage control like a pro and definitely does not panic. No sir.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I call this 'how much pining and angst fits into one chapter?' 
> 
> Here we go, folks, nearing the end of the first installment in this series I intend to expand into six parts, milking this modern AU for all it is potentially not worth.

_In the aftermath of it all, Thomas slips out of Alex with a soft kiss to his nose, trotting to the bathroom at a leisurely pace. Alex watches him go, taken in by just how toned everything about that man is. He listens to the sound of the faucet running for a few minutes, stretches as he waits for Thomas to return._

_Only once he sees Thomas watching him from the bathroom door does he realize that the past three minutes would have been the perfect opportunity for him to make a silent escape. Did Thomas want him to leave? "So that was-" Alex starts, clearing his throat loudly. "Satisfactory?" Thomas tests the word on his tongue, equally unsure how to describe whatever just happened between them. "High standards I see, if you would call that just satisfactory."_

_Thomas laughs. Alex’s chest feels a little tight as he watches, like someone is squeezing his heart. Thomas slips back into bed, turning Alex onto his back and hovering above him, unreadable emotions strong in his eyes. "How would you like me to describe it?"_

_"Oh, I don’t know, perhaps, mind-blowing?" Alex teases._

_"Overwhelming?" Thomas grins, tucking a strand of Alex’s hair behind his ear tenderly. Alex is unable to do anything but stare up at Thomas in wonder and hope his heartbeat will return to a proportionate eighty beats per minute soon._

_"Sensational?"_

_"Phenomenal?" They banter back and forth for a while, until Thomas gives in, dropping back onto his pillow and pulling Alex to rest on his chest._ _"Alright then, Mr. Thesaurus, you win."_

_"Do I get a prize?"_

_"In the morning, if you’re good," Thomas yawns, eyes drifting close. For a while Alex is very tempted to let it happen, to just fall asleep on Thomas and continue this affair in the morning. But Thomas does something to him, something that will only grow more dangerous if he lets it happen, and Alex is very keen on self-preservation. If he stays it is only a matter of time before they crash and burn, and Alex would rather cherish one night as 'as close to perfect as it gets' than look back at all of this with regret. So he waits, watches Thomas reverently as the gentle giant drifts off into sleep, covered in marks and scratches that Alex counts to keep himself awake. He watches Thomas’ chest rise and fall steadily, allows himself this moment of tranquility, and then disentangles himself. The clothes stick to his sweaty body as he hurries to get them back on quietly, but Thomas is too busy quietly snoring to hear the sound of the hotel door clicking shut._

+

"Thank you, Thomas, that was-uh, a swell presentation," Washington clears his throat after Thomas’ PowerPoint ends. "Does anyone have anything to say about the new proposed marketing strategy?"

Washington looks around the table, searchingly. His eyes land on Alex, as if, for once, he wants him to disagree with Jefferson.

Thomas had grabbed him, somewhat roughly, at the arm as he caught up to Alex on the way here, eliciting curious glances from their coworkers, and hissed at him that 'you better fucking have my back with this strategy, Hamilton'. Alex had resisted the urge to argue, and settled instead for a tight nod and yanking his arm away with a hiss.

But it seems, for once, that Jefferson has taken a direction that Alex is pleasantly surprised by. Of course there are faults with this approach, some of them glaringly obvious. But even Alex has to reluctantly admit that he likes where Thomas' mind is at right now. So he keeps quiet, telling himself that he will rip into Jefferson for some of the more glaring oversights after the meeting.

"I think the proposed ideas are a surefire way to reach a demographic that has as of yet been reluctant to consider W&A Insurance as an option," Angelica throws in, nodding to herself, "However I do see complications with your approach."

It is tactfully phrased, which is somewhat of an oddity for Angelica, and Alexander wonders if Thomas buttered her up as well before presenting. It would be just like Thomas to want to walk into this meeting and have the outcome be a foregone conclusion, wouldn't it? He looks like someone who might enjoy networking a little too much, who might even get off on the fact that he can control what will happen before it does. It must blow his ego to staggering heights.

(And then briefly, Alex remembers soft brown eyes on his couch at two in the morning, opening up about his regrets regarding Laurens, and Alex tries to think of that vulnerable man as someone else entirely. They're not the same person, the man from his couch and the man currently smirking as if nothing could shake his confidence.)

Jefferson crosses his arms, not stubbornly, more like he is preparing himself for a debate. And Alex hates how his breath catches in his throat when he watches Jefferson’s muscles flex beneath the fabric. "Our investors, yes," Jefferson agrees, "But then again, why would we want to associate with those who do not support acceptance?"

Washington looks terse, looks to Adams or Knox to support him, since Alex has chosen this one moment to shut up. Washington's eyes are borderline disappointed when Alex sets his jaw tightly and fights every instinct to debate.

"I admire the sentiment, Thomas, I really do. I just don’t see how it can be done without losing half of our investors." And he does sound regretful, but Alex thinks that George Washington doesn't care too much about following through with Thomas' plan. He is missing the crucial point that Thomas is making, that they should expand their reach, something that Alex has been telling him for years, and it irritates him that his boss simply will not acknowledge the validity of this notion.

"Do we not stand for freedom and equality, Sir?"

"Of course we do," Washington sounds exasperated. "But frankly, I find it rather disquieting that you are letting your ideals blind you to reality."

"George," Adams speaks up, "Why don’t we get an opinion of how much damage this will do to our company from someone who actually has all the numbers figured out?"

A pointed look at Alex, who sighs. Adams is trying to goad him. Do they think Alexander is some weapon of mass destruction, ready to be unleashed on anyone whose ideas they don't like? Well, if he thought he could sit this debate out, he was wrong after all. "Undoubtedly we would suffer some losses, that is to be expected when taking risks. We suffered terrible losses when we separated from Hanoverian control, but we managed to recoup those within three years. I can’t say with certainty that we aren’t too fragile to do this, but I, for one, am willing to try." He forces himself to leave it at that.

From the corner of his eye Alex watches as Jefferson’s eyes soften, ever so slightly. Washington chews on the inside of his cheek, stewing about.

"This is the compromise the two of you came up with, is it?"

"Yes, Sir," Jefferson nods, "Hamilton has graciously agreed to expedite more funds to marketing if it means we will have more sway with a broader demographic."

"Alexander, you’re not usually this naive when it comes to finances, son. You know this could put us to ruin."

"There is always a chance of prospective ruin, no matter which route we take, and I would appreciate it if you did not refer to me as naïve when I have spent considerable time calculating and weighing said risks against one another," Alex retorts, forcing himself to take steady, calming breaths.

"And what strategy do you have, if I may ask, when this inevitably backfires?"

Alex and Jefferson are both silent. When they discussed this quid pro quo neither man expected to be hit with such vehement disapproval. "I see," Washington nods, lips drawn in a thin line, "I don’t want to see either of you until you can present me with a reasonable back-up plan to control the damages of this scheme, since the two of you are so determined to see it through."

"But, Sir," Angelica interjects, "We have a LGBTQ+ demographic reach of close to zero percent, and I really don’t think it’s prudent to dismiss-"

"My decision on this matter is not subject to anyone’s approval, Miss Schuyler," Washington stops her. The foul mood that has caught him months ago seems to be a permanent fixture now. "Anyone else have something they would like to say?"

"Yes, actually," Randolph speaks up, sifting through some files, "There is a legal aspect to all of this that I don’t think you’ve considered. I’d have to look into it, of course, but the investors would have to, as per contract, cite a reason to, err, pull out, and I’m not certain homophobia qualifies as a reason. Of course, I still have to do some research-"

"Just do it, Edmund." Washington waves a hand. "Jefferson, Hamilton, you are dismissed. See that you find me something I can use to justify this mess to the board."

+

John stands up hastily when Alex storms back into his office, frustrated. "How’d it go? What did he present?" John had been one of those present when Jefferson corralled him in the corridor.

"Washington is too cautious to risk it. Told me he doesn’t want to see me until I’ve come up with an alternative," Alex fumes, snatching the pastry John is in the middle of eating and taking it for himself. He still hasn’t had anything to eat today. His mind had been too busy going over everything he talked about with Jefferson regarding this strategy.

"Can’t believe you got Jefferson to agree to do it in the first place," John snorts when Alex tells him what the proposed plan entails, already resigned to the fact that this company will never get the representation he wants it to. Alex thinks this is as good a time as any to come clean about the origins of this plan. "Actually, Jefferson is the one that suggested it."

As amusing as it is to watch John choke on his food, Alex hastily helps him by patting him on the back. "Thomas Jefferson approached you and suggested marketing directed towards queer people?"

"I don’t know what to tell you, John, but if you overlook his staggering arrogance and outlandish policies, he isn’t half bad."

John mutters something under his breath that Alex doesn’t quite catch, and then promptly changes the subject.

+

Jefferson looks confused when Alex pushes a coffee from ‘The revolutionary coffeenant’ into his hand in the copy room. "What, you didn’t think I’d figure it out eventually?"

The shop uses plain colored cups without a logo on them. Anna said something about 'letting the coffee speak for itself', which Alex thinks is admirable but a rather shitty way of marketing. He bit his tongue so as not to irritate her, because really, he would like to become a regular customer there. And if her way of doing things were truly so horrendous he is sure Jefferson, in all his insufferable arrogance, would have said something to her already.

"I didn’t doubt it for a second, I was just hoping it would take longer. Superior coffee was the only ace up my sleeve when it comes to negotiating with you."

He takes a long sip, frowns, licks his lips. "How did you know my order?"

Alex grins, widely. "Anna, the barista, recognized me as ‘quadruple espresso latte with cinnamon’ guy, which, by the way, she definitely judged me for, and asked me if ‘TJ’ finally relented and recommended her to me. Naturally when I said I had to bribe your intern for the information, she revealed your regular order and told me she deserves to profit off your patronage, considering how often you visit her establishment."

The bottle of whiskey on Albert's desk that Thomas muttered about in a meeting two days ago is the result of said bribery. Albert had looked at him and frowned, but accepted the trade. 

Thomas can’t help but laugh as he watches Alex gesticulate wildly while recounting his adventures. "Have you tried my order? It is superior to your abomination in every way."

"Do I look like I want to try an Americano with caramel syrup? You don’t even put milk in it."

"My dairy intake is sufficiently bolstered by the other foods I consume, no need to overdo it."

"Then use soy milk or something, but don’t drink it black with syrup, Jefferson, that’s ridiculous."

"Is it, Hamilton? Is it more ridiculous than squeezing four espressos’ worth into one drink?"

"I did not come here to be attacked like this," Alex gasps, putting a hand on his chest in mock-offense that leaves Jefferson giving him a somewhat fond look, even if the larger man rolls his eyes.

"What did you come here for then?" Jefferson wonders, placing his coffee onto the copy machine as he bends to retrieve whatever he just printed.

"Avoiding Washington, for one, because I still don’t have a plan how I am going to convince him that we can overcome initial setbacks in profits. It’s like the guy forgot that I helped him turn the finances around the first time," Alex complains, watching as Jefferson flips through the freshly-printed pages, silently counting along to check he made enough copies. It's frankly a rather adorable habit, because the machine definitely shows how many copies are made, but Jefferson doesn't seem to trust it.

"I wanted to thank you, you know," Jefferson pipes up, "For not tearing my presentation into shreds - would have gotten you more points with Washington if you had disagreed."

"Deal is a deal, Jefferson," Alex chirps, "And believe it or not, I have never been keen on sucking up to Washington at the cost of my principles. Your idea isn’t bad, much as it pains me to admit it."

"No, please, don’t overdo it with the praise," Jefferson snorts, picking up his coffee again. "Let me know if you figure out a way to get us back on track."

"That isn't to say there aren't glaringly obvious mistakes in it, _mon chér_ ," Alexander shouts after Jefferson's retreating form, delighting in the way his shoulders tense and then covering up his grin with a cough when Angelica enters and gives him a confused and irritated eyebrow-raise.

+

It takes two more weeks of stubbornness on Alexander’s part for Washington to snap completely. _‘Alexander, I forbid you from showing up to work until you give me something I can work with.’_

That is how he finds himself on Jefferson’s doorstep with his laptop bag slung over his shoulder and a bottle of wine in hand. The door opens and Alex doesn’t give Jefferson enough time to protest before he pushes through the door. "I know you haven’t been suspended from work and the extended office absence is killing me so we’re going to figure this shit out, or so help me I will resign my position and recommend Wolcott in my place, see if Washington can ‘work’ with that," he rambles, taking in Thomas’ apartment for the very first time.

"No, by all means, Hamilton, come in, make yourself right at home. Not like I could have had company or anything," Jefferson remains at the door, annoyance slowly dissipating as he watches Hamilton bounce around with too much energy. "How many espressos are you pushing right now, Alexander?"

"I don’t know, twelve, thirteen? Does it matter?" Alex waves a dismissive hand, prompting Jefferson to close the door and take the wine bottle from him. "I suppose not, although I’d caution you not to destroy my apartment with your explosive energy. Have you had dinner?"

Alex stops to think of the last time he ate. Did he have breakfast today? Did he have dinner yesterday? Funny how the thought of food becomes so secondary once he immerses himself in his work. Before his thoughts go off tangent about how he just proved Maslow's hierarchy of needs wrong he consciously puts a stop to it. Alex shakes his head, a bit sheepishly. "Consider yourself lucky I was just about to cook, then."

"Do you cook anything besides Mac & Cheese? I only ever smell that in your office."

Jefferson snorts, throws Alex a warning look, and begins taking out ingredients. "Pushing it, Hamilton. Try not to offend your gracious host too much or you’ll find yourself thrown out into the street." Alex contents himself to watch Jefferson cook, observing those long, dexterous fingers chop up everything with astounding precision, all the while making conversation that is borderline pleasant.

Dinner is surprisingly good, Alex discovers as he digs in to a dish Jefferson called _Piperade_ , a Ratatouille-esque recipe containing peppers, onions and eggs. "Did you learn to cook in France?" Alex wonders as he extends his glass for a second helping of wine.

"No, uh," Jefferson chuckles, a bit awkwardly, "My wife dragged me to cooking classes, actually." The fond look on his face is overshadowed by sadness for a brief second, before he blinks and his face is back to normal. Rarely does Alex get such a telling read on his emotions. Jefferson is much better than him at controlling himself when he wants to. Alex has seen him vulnerable, more than once now, but Jefferson was drunk both times. "How did-" Alex cuts himself off before completing the question, because it really isn’t any of his business, no matter how much his curiosity is eating away at him. He came here to do work, not for another heart-to-heart with Thomas Jefferson that leaves them sitting on the couch together, barely holding back from falling into the nearest bed.

"Martha developed gestastational diabetes and the doctors didn’t correctly diagnose the pre-eclampsia that followed."

"And," Alex wonders, gently, "The child?"

"Stillborn," Thomas reveals, swirling the contents of his glass around sadly, "Martha’s health was never good enough to reasonably sustain a pregnancy, the doctors tried to dissuade us, but she wanted a child so badly I couldn’t deny her the request."

"I’m so sorry," Alex gets out, trying to convey just how empathetic he is to Thomas’ struggle. Thomas looks at him, the intensity of his eyes unwavering enough to make Alex want to squirm in his seat.

"I think it’s time we did what you came here for, no?"

"Work," Alex swallows, "Yes, of course."

The moment is broken, but Alex feels like something has changed between the two of them, again. The relationship between the two of them is constantly shifting, dangerously close to toeing the line of ‘colleague-appropriate’. Jefferson pushes his chair back and quickly sorts the dishes into the washer, before carrying the wine glasses into his living room that doubles as New York’s largest home-library, apparently. And maybe it is because neither man wants to stop and address the moment they just had, but they manage to bang out something resembling a plan in just under three hours, not including bathroom breaks.

Eventually, Alex can’t resist and gets up to analyze the bookshelves while Jefferson is frequenting his devastatingly chic bathroom. Alex gets so into it that he doesn’t notice Jefferson coming back. "See something you like?"

He glances over his shoulder to where Jefferson leans against the wall, arms crossed, enigmatic little smile on his face.God, everything about that man is unfairly handsome, from the perfect curls that frame his face to the body whose strength he has felt first-hand and came apart under.

"Plenty," Alex nods, letting his eyes wander for a second before backtracking, "I’ll freely admit to being envious of your collection. Although five editions of Crime and Punishment are pushing it a bit, don’t you think?"

In a very telling manner, Jefferson has organized his books alphabetically by author. It is a simple yet very efficient system, very contrary to how Alex groups his books together by genre and whether or not he has read them already.

"What can I say, it is my favorite book, and over the years friends have gifted me copies in different languages."

"Why do you like that book?" Alex wonders.

"It explores how even some of the most contemptible actions are sometimes justified, or how they can be. I like the more subtle symbolism as well. But really-" Jefferson exhales loudly, "I never knew how much I liked the book until Martha started reading it to me whenever I couldn’t sleep."

And if Alex thinks that Crime and Punishment does not make for a very good bedtime story, he respectfully holds his tongue in that regard.

"The two of you must have really had something special," Alex can’t look at Jefferson now, without feeling guilty that he was just seconds before admiring the widower’s physique.

"We did," Jefferson agrees with a soft smile, "Though I suspect she knew more about what I really wanted than she let on. Before she died she made me promise never to marry another woman."

Oh. Thomas glances sideways at Alex, Alex glances back. Tentative smiles are exchanged as Alex’s thumb traces the spine of the oldest Crime and Punishment edition on the shelves.

"You know, I still have a bet running with Randolph , about you."

Jefferson raises an eyebrow. No, not Jefferson, Thomas, Alex thinks. When he’s being vulnerable he is Thomas. Jefferson is his colleague. Jefferson is the infuriatingly smug marketing executive. Thomas is, well, he doesn’t know what Thomas is but he is definitely more than a colleague.

"He said you’d be breaking company policy for a woman in no time."

"And you bet against me?" Thomas snorts. "Should I be flattered or offended?"

"Considering that I could still see hickeys on your neck that I, a man, made, I thought my chances were quite good. You’ve been insufficiently scandalous for Randolph’s satisfaction."

"How much is riding on that bet? Now I am very much inclined to woo the nearest HR employee I can find, just to see you lose."

"As if I’d tell you," Alex laughs. "Do you want to, though?"

"Do I want to find myself a nice HR lady to settle down with?" Thomas reiterates. Alex nods. "Sure, one day. Doesn't have to be someone from HR, doesn’t even have to be a lady, but seeing Ben and Caleb finally tie the knot made me realize how much I missed having someone, although the high school sweetheart aspect of it all just seems unrealistic by now."

"Well, they’re more like elementary school sweethearts, if we’re being technical."

Thomas shoots him a look as if to say ‘does it really matter?’, and Alex digresses. "So why aren’t you dating?"

"You don’t know that I’m not," Thomas challenges.

"Fair," Alex agrees, "Are you?"

"No," Thomas admits, confirming Alex’s suspicion. "I guess I’m still waiting for the right person to date."

And because Alex is a glutton for punishment, he speaks up. "Could I have been that person, if I’d stayed the night?" Thomas tenses, a little, and turns his head to the shelves. Alex’s heart sinks a little, the traitorous thing, and he wonders what made him think he had the right to ask that. "I don’t know, Alex," Thomas whispers, "But I really wanted you to stay."

"I almost did," Alex whispers, hands shaking as he tries to stop his head from spinning.

"I want to ask why you didn’t but I’m really not that equipped to handle rejection right now, so, uh-" Thomas makes a few helpless hand movements. "I think you should leave." Alex wants to protest, but he knows it isn’t a good idea. So he leaves.

+

Every time Alexander thinks he and Jefferson have settled into whatever is between them, things change. The talk at Thomas’ place changed things, again. And he can’t for the life of him figure out why Thomas is back to ignoring him again. In all honesty, Alex thought that they’d made progress, but Thomas seems to be drawing back from him. He avoids coming to Alexander’s office like he used to. Instead he sends e-mails, and they’re not even teasing. It’s frustrating, is what it is, and Alex steadily weighs the pros and cons of confronting him about it.

Alex isn’t good at talking about emotions, not like this. Eliza claims that his inability to communicate what he wants on an emotional level is what sped up the downfall of their relationship. " _You only ever think to communicate your physical needs, Alex, and those are already pretty obvious. I love you to death but really, this doesn’t work for me like it does for you."_

So ultimately he decides against confronting Jefferson. They slip back into a pretty standard routine of arguing in meetings, but that doesn’t give him what it used to. The heat has been taken out of it, in some way. Not to say that he doesn’t still fantasize about Jefferson snapping and choosing to shut him up in a different manner altogether, because he does fantasize about that, quite often. But he knows too much about Jefferson now to see him as a nemesis like he used to, one he would like to see destroyed in a debate. He wants to do that to Jefferson as much as he wants to do it to John, and therein lies the problem. Jefferson has somehow wormed his way into his heart by being Thomas. He used to be able to keep the conflicting ideas of Thomas and Jefferson separate in his head, but they’ve melted into one complete picture and it isn’t good.

Because most of his ideas are still shitty and make his blood boil. And they are getting nowhere. Washington agreed to his marketing strategy, after almost a month of convincing him that their plan is soundly thought out, and so their brief collaboration ended and they are back to a now-changed power struggle.

+

"How dare he walk around here with a goddamn baby on his arm," John hisses into Alex’s ear in the break room as they watch Thomas bounce the little child on his arm, grinning at James Madison, who looks quite enamored with both of them. "More of a toddler though, isn’t it? Like, that kid is at least two years old."

"Really not the point I was making, Alex," John rolls his eyes as he stuffs food into his mouth to cope. "Enlighten me then, what point where you making? I seem to have missed it."

"Just when I think I am starting to get used to his presence, he pulls this shit."

Alex raises a questioning eyebrow.

"Nobody has the right to be so infuriatingly handsome with a child tugging on their hair. Jefferson has to be a monster in my head and this image is redeeming him."

"John, for fuck’s sake, what does it matter that he isn’t ready to come out? Shouldn’t you of all people know how bad it goes when one isn’t ready?" Alex sighs, unwilling to discuss what the combination of Thomas + Baby does in _his_ mind. Too late he realizes that he just revealed a very crucial piece of information John didn’t know he had.

"You _know_?"

Alex drinks his coffee, trying to forego answering for as long as possible, before he nods, miserably. "I, uh, may have asked him what he did to make you hate him so much."

"I didn’t even know the two of you could talk without trying to rip each other’s heads off, Alex. What else am I missing, please enlighten me."

"Nothing," Alex responds, a bit too defensively. Caught between the option of telling John that he and Jefferson had a meaningful anonymous hookup and bolting, Alex chooses the latter without a second thought. He will take the Jefferson secret to his grave.

+

"Mr. Hamilton, Sir," an exasperated voice snaps him out of his reverie, and he finds himself looking into the somewhat concerned face of one Oliver Wolcott Jr. "Is there something I can help you with, Oliver?"

"Mr. Jefferson asked for you to meet him in his office, Sir," he chews on his lip, "Would you like me to tell him you’re busy?" Oliver’s eyes take in the mess of scattered paper on Alex’s desk, and Alex snorts. "No, I’ll go. Did he say why?"

"Something about the marketing campaign," Oliver shrugs.

"Thanks, Oliver, this is why you’re worth every penny," Alex says unthinkingly, flinching as he hopes Oliver somehow misses the offensively sarcastic undertones. But Oliver only raises an eyebrow, grins, "I think I’m starting to grow on you, Mr. Hamilton, whether you realize it or not."

"The day you manage to get my coffee order right away without backtalking me we can talk about whether or not that is true," Alex dismisses, breezing out of his office.

"You wouldn't like me half as much if I didn't backtalk!" Oliver yells after him and he smiles, because, fine, he can admit to that.

+

"You wanted to see me?" Alex asks, hovering in Jefferson’s office door. Thomas looks up, nods. "Close the door and have a seat, Hamilton."

Alex doesn’t know why it bothers him to hear Jefferson call him Hamilton. It’s not like he has started outright calling him Thomas. Really, he has no right to feel this way. But when he has heard his given name roll off of his tongue in that undeniably attractive drawl, time and time again, _Hamilton_ just doesn't compare.

"What am I here for?"

"I want you to look at the concept art for the campaign," Jefferson frowns, "I can’t decide if I like it, it still feels impersonal." Alex wonders if it is an excuse to see him, but dismisses that thought out of hand. Jefferson has made it very clear that they are back to being just-colleagues. That little tangent into a more intimate relationship has ended. Their metaphorical ship has sailed, by now it should be halfway across the Atlantic. "Alright," Alex takes a deep breath, "Let’s see it then."

Thomas gives him a bit of a skeptical glance, then gestures towards the desktop. Ah. Alex gets up and crosses behind the desk, looking over Jefferson’s shoulder. The lingering smell of Thomas’ aftershave shouldn’t still get to him. How is it, that after half a year of working together, he still cannot forget the one night they had sex? How does he still vividly flash back to one night? It makes no sense. Thomas clears his throat, interrupting his inner monologue. "Well?"

"You’re right, it is impersonal."

"I can practically hear the suggestion in your voice, let me hear what you have to say, come on."

"No need to be quiet for you, hm?" Alex snorts, unthinkingly, and regrets it when he sees Thomas’ shoulder’s tense. Ah, so Alex isn’t the only one that cannot forget. "Sorry, that was inappropriate."

"No, don’t mention it. Really, we should be way past being able to joke about it by now." Thomas tears his eyes away from the screen to look at Alex, unaware that he was hovering so closely. The space between them is minimal. Alex feels like they are sharing a single breath as he stares into Thomas’ eyes, caught dangerously between the impulses to run and wanting to kiss until they both forget their names. It is Thomas who speaks first. "Alex?" He says carefully, and Alex strangles a sigh at hearing him speak his name so softly. "Your idea?"

"Sorry," he shakes his head, as if that could make his treacherous thoughts fly away like some stray beetle that landed on his head. "It feels impersonal because we don’t know who these models are. We don’t know their story. We don’t know how they relate to our company. People could say we’re just using random LGBTQ+ folks to capitalize off of. Worst case, one of the models we hire isn't even queer and someone finds out about it."

"And your suggestion?"

"Use people we know," Alex continues. "We have a lot more of them in the company than you might think. John is openly gay." Thomas frowns a little.

"Peggy sometimes does freelance PR research for Angelica, that counts as employment, right? We’ve got that girl Maria, in, uh, shoot, ah, IT. And I think I overheard the legal intern Hale tell Wolcott he was either asexual or aromantic. Don’t take my word for it though."

"Ticks most of the boxes," Thomas nods, "Except Bisexual. They’d have to agree to it first, of course, before I even approach Washington about it."

"I can count two bisexuals in this very room, Thomas," Alex deadpans. Thomas looks hesitant. "Would you do it?"

Alex sighs, heavily, "Only if you don’t want to do it yourself."

"I feel like I owe you an explanation, Alex," Thomas sighs, eventually, rubbing his eyes.

"You don’t need to justify why you aren’t ready to come out, Thomas, really, I get it," he placates. Not everyone busts down the closet door as viciously as Alex did.

"No, an explanation as to why I’ve been distancing myself." Ah. Now that is something he really does not want to have to hear.

"You don’t owe me an explanation for anything," Alex straightens, hastily, "I am fully aware that I have no right to demand either your time or attention outside of work."

"Will you _let_ me explain, Alex, or do I have to shut you up first?"

The wording gives Alex pause. He stills, blinks a few times to stop his fantasies from running wild. "You have the floor, Sir," he imitates Washington.

"The conversation at my house made me realize that I was making more out of whatever was developing between the two of us than you were, and I needed time to sort through what I was feeling. That isn’t to say I didn’t enjoy our talks, Alexander, just that, until I get these emotions under control, it makes more sense for this to be a working-relationship only."

"What if I don’t want you to get your emotions under control?" Alex dares to say. He watches as Thomas wars with himself for a bit, fingers tapping on the table nervously.

"Alex, please be mature about this. The stint at the wedding notwithstanding, I really am not the sort of guy who has casual flings. It wouldn’t be good for me to throw myself into the friends-with-benefits arrangement you are clearly spoiling for, no matter how much I may desire it now. Can you respect that?"

Alex can’t hear anything over the sound of his heart beating out of his chest.

"Yes," Alex chokes out, eventually. Tension drains from Thomas’ face and Alex is glad to see it, even if his chest feels bizarrely constricted. "Will that be all, Thomas?"

The office door closes behind him and Alex doesn’t quite understand why it feels like his entire world is spinning out of control.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Facts  
> -Martha Jefferson actually had Diabetes, and died after childbirth, thus I have concocted a more plausible modern alternative as to why she died.  
> -What is gestational diabetes? High blood sugar that develops during pregnancy due to various factors such as a lack of excercise that might come from poor overall health. Gestastional diabetes greatly increases the risk for pre-eclampsia. When left untreated it can lead to stillbirths.  
> -What is Pre-Eclampsia? Offset by high blood pressure and as explained facilitated by gestastional diabetes, among other things. While ordinarily diagnosed at around 20 weeks, in some cases it does not manifest until the birth. It is usually diagnosed by high blood pressure and high-protein urine, but those could be symptomatic for other problems, especially when the patient is already suffering from other health problems that affect, for example, their kidneys, which are responsible for the amount of protein found in urine. Normally easy to treat with Aspirin, excercise and whatnot, if left untreated the mother might develop Eclampsia or HELLP-Syndrom, which can both prove fatal. It is not a pretty death as the victim will suffer muscle spasms and eventually choke. Poor Martha.  
> BE RELIEVED THOUGH: ordinarily this outcome is VERY easily avoidable. Your luck would have to be utterly TERRIBLE for you to die of this, despite there being a possibility. Statistics: Hypertensive pregnancy diseases like this one account for 16% of deaths in childbirth, being among the three most likely causes along with post-partum bleeding, 13 %, and puerperal infections, 2%. Hypertensive diseases affect only 8-13% of pregnancies in the US, where this fic is set, and out of the diagnosed cases only a few end in death, so, it's calm. Thank fuck for modern medicine.  
> -The question continues: Who is this mysterious Coffee Shop Anna????  
> -I actually think Crime and Punishment is a fitting novel for the historical Thomas Jefferson, who sort of thought he was hot shit but did terrible shit like believe in the falsehood that white people were genetically superior while claiming he was all for equality. Morbid curiosity, guys, is it worse to actually believe all people are the same but support Slavery for the economic benefits or to actually be pea-brained enough to think there is an intellectual discrepancy between races??? I can't decide??? I hate the historical Thomas Jefferson so much???? Not even swivel chairs excuse this asshole's behavior????  
> Anyway, crime and punishment tl;dr: TJEFFS was very big on justifying his actions even though they were mostly despicable  
> -https://www.seriouseats.com/recipes/2014/08/piperade-recipe-from-buvette-the-pleasure-of-good-food.html  
> -> The food non-horrible modern AU TJEFFS makes for AHAM. 
> 
>  
> 
> also: pls review and let me know what note you hope the fifth chapter ends on. I have it planned out but I am not sure if it would be well received the way I want it to end.


	5. It changed the meaning, did you intend this?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter for part 1 of the series, for those of you disappointed, be sure to remember that there is more coming, most of it already typed up and just waiting to be published. :D

Dinner at James’ house makes Thomas forget what a shit show his life is right now, if only for a few hours. Between dealing with conflicting feelings regarding the great Hamiltonian matter and trying to organize the company’s largest marketing stunt while simultaneously keeping Angelica in the loop and happy with PR, Thomas hasn’t had much time to wind down.

Two glasses of port with James while bouncing his little god-son on his knees later, and Thomas feels something almost like calm settle into his mind. It's a start. Little Jonny coos, reaching up to play with his curls, play being a loose term that includes anything from making them bounce to trying to use them as a climbing rope. _"He already had a name when we adopted him, Thomas, do you honestly think I would have named him John myself?"_

The kid knows a few words, including the most recent addition, ‘Dommy’, that makes Thomas’ chest ache with how much he wants exactly something like this in his life. Dolley curls up on James’ lap as the evening continues, and Thomas feels a longing in his chest, not for Martha like he used to, but for _someone_. Thoughts of disgusting cinnamon-flavored coffee and honey-flavored shampoo invade his head. He sees Alexander’s smile when he closes his eyes, hears his snort of laughter, so uniquely him that it tugs at his heartstrings.

Things have not improved on the ‘get over him’ front, and Thomas doesn’t know how they ever will. Alexander has been admirably respectful of Thomas’ demand that this thing between them ought to stay professional. And Thomas does not know whether to be disappointed or relieved. The logical answer is that he should be relieved. And yet-

It feels like walking a tightrope that is slowly cutting into his flesh. Dinner at James' place becomes a recurring theme again, just for some distraction, for something to do that doesn't involve pining. 

"I do want to start dating again, James, really, I do," Thomas sighs when James addresses the issue one night. "It just doesn’t seem to be happening for me, that is all."

James only gives him a somewhat pitying look that somehow doesn’t make him feel better at all. Shocker. 

+

Thomas snaps some time around the end of November, when during a meeting he accidentally says something that most people wouldn't interpret as a compliment. Calling Alexander 'unfailingly tenacious and disgustingly efficient' wasn't actually supposed to be a compliment in the first place, but Alexander gives him a fond, almost shy smile and Washington clears his throat. Their boss gives both of them very suspicious looks and Thomas realizes that he really, really has to dial it down again if he doesn't want to be kicked to the curb.

(He doesn't doubt that Washington would find some excuse for Alexander to stay. Alex is his golden boy, even when he is busy pissing Washington off by not agreeing with the direction Washington wants to take.)

So, he shows up at James' place with a bottle of their favorite brandy, and doesn't think too much on the concerned look his friend gives him as he wheels after him into the living room.

"This is about Hamilton." It isn't even posed as a question. James knows him too well for that.  Of course he knows. For someone notoriously good at keeping his emotions to himself, he sure is an open book to James. Thomas responds with a pathetic whine that he drowns in more alcohol. "Fine. Fine. Give me your phone if you're about to get smashed. You're not drunk texting him tonight."

And Thomas agrees, reluctantly, that he has a point.

"Now tell me what happened."

"Nothing happened," Thomas pouts, "Don't look at me like that, nothing has happened since the wedding."

"Somehow, I doubt the validity of that statement." James' voice is rather dry. And why should he believe Thomas, when he has watched him pine away like a love-struck idiot for over half a year? So, Thomas sighs, takes a deep swig of brandy, and launches into an explanation that finishes with: "So, in essence, I think I am in way over my head and Alexander wants what I can only call a 'mutually beneficial arrangement' without upsetting your delicate sensibilities."

"Has he told you that this is what he wants? From the way you've explained things, it doesn't seem like you gave him room to talk, not that I can blame you for trying to avoid a veritable avalanche of retorts."

"Doesn't matter anymore."

"And why not?"

"Because I basically told me to leave me alone and he has been surprisingly considerate." Thomas loses himself in the bottle, falling asleep on James' couch and wakes up to Dolley's breakfast buffet. James hands him back his phone and Thomas thinks that he really doesn't deserve someone like him.

+

"Mr. Jefferson," Oliver knocks on his door, polite to perfection. Alexander has taken to sending him in his stead, citing that he had finally managed to accept his outrageous coffee consumption and was thus qualified to represent him, to an extent. The kid had looked ecstatic as he relayed the message, and something had twisted in his gut. Of course Thomas appreciates that Alex respects his wishes, but with every passing day he regrets having requested that Alex keep his distance in the first place. James' words ring in his head, a constant reminder that he might have handled this wrong. But it's too late for that now, isn't it?

This feels an awful lot like paying for something he didn't know he ordered.

"Good morning, Oliver, what have you got for me?"

"Mr. Hamilton would like you to take a look at the e-mails he received from one Marquis de Lafayette and a Mr. Steuben," Oliver explains as he pushes a small stack of files, with a sticky note on top that reads ‘looks like France is following us to revolution’ and a smiley face below, across the table. Thomas is curious to get into it, but Oliver hovers, holding a little plastic bag in his hand.

"Anything else?" Thomas sighs, because Oliver has reverted back to shuffling his feet awkwardly. "He also told me to give you this, though I don’t know what’s inside of it. Like I’ve said before, this doesn’t-"

"Reflect your opinion of me, I know," Thomas finishes for him, motioning for him to hand it over. "You can go now, Oliver, thank you." He dismisses the intern as he turns over the bag in his hand, wondering what Hamilton could possibly have to give him. Oliver leaves reluctantly, clearly equally curious to discover the contents of the package.

"The door, Oliver," Thomas calls after him, tersely.

He opens the little decorative bag to discover a small, potted gerbera daisy. The little yellow flower renders him speechless for a good minute, before he comes to his senses. How did Hamilton _know_?

He finds a corresponding folded note tucked into the soil beneath the leaves, and opens it hesitantly.

_Thomas,_

_Adams cautioned me, a bit redundantly I might add, to avoid you this week as today would have been Martha’s birthday, and you really ‘don’t need the aggravation’. He mentioned this was her favorite flower. I hope this doesn’t overstep the line, if it does I am sorry._

_Yours fondly,_

_Alexander_

Only once a small tear drops onto the paper and smudges Alexander’s signature does Thomas realize that he is crying.

+

"Come in," Alexander calls out without breaking the furious typing pace that seems to characterize his personality astoundingly well. "France is following us to Revolution?" Thomas asks, amused, holding up the wad of paper Oliver brought over. Alex looks up and his fingers stop. He swallows, Thomas watches. 

"I told Gilbert about the idea and they loved it so much that they pitched it to their boss. They reached out to Steuben in Germany and got him on board as well. Did you know he is poly-amorous?"

"About as much as I knew there was an actual flag for it, so no," Thomas muses. "It’s wonderful news."

"They’re waiting for you to give the green light." Alex's fingers fold and leans back in his chair a little. "How are you coming along with the photo shoots?"

"Peggy was ecstatic. The rest are on board as well," Thomas says, "I, err, haven’t talked to Laurens yet."

Alexander raises an eyebrow.

"I was hoping you might convince him," Thomas bites his lip. Alex’s eyes crinkle and Thomas feels that tug in his chest again. "Why Thomas, that sounds like a favor for a friend, not a colleague."

Ah. Of course Alexander is at least a little bitter. How could he not be? They are back to square one, it seems. "All jokes aside though," he continues, "I do think you need to talk to him."

+

"Laurens, can I talk to you for a second?" He catches John by the coffee machine in the break room, watches as his shoulders tense. Hears him take an audible breath, then turn around with a cold expression. "Is this related to work, Mr. Jefferson?"

"Yes," Thomas assures him quickly.

"Then I suppose I have no other choice. Shoot."

"Would you be so kind as to follow me to my office?"

John considers for a moment and then leads the way, following Thomas' essential request while disregarding as much of it as possible.

"You want me for your marketing stunt, I assume?" He wonders, refusing to sit down in the office, choosing instead to flex his hands, seemingly fascinated with the movement. "Gilbert wrote me and asked me if I was joining. They seemed quite taken in by your idea."

"Well, someone has to be, since Washington still doesn’t like it. I think Gilbert's e-mail must have swayed him a little bit. They are, uh, quite convincing."

"Are _you_ joining?" John asks, crossing his arms. There is a challenge in his tone. It is very familiar to Thomas, so he knows how to avoid what is coming for a minute longer, how to gather some more time to prepare for the clash that now seems inevitable.

"It’s my project, of course I’m working on it. You don’t have to talk to me or anything, don’t worry. This can be the last time we speak, if you want to."

"No, Thomas, I mean, are you joining? Are you representing whatever you are?"

Thomas gapes at him, for a while. That isn't what he expected. But then again, he hasn't known John Laurens for years. Rash to assume that he remained a brash and hot-headed youth, intrepidity bordering on rashness.

"Hamilton agreed to take that part."

"He knows about you though, doesn’t he?" John wonders. Thomas nods, although he probably isn't ever going to disclose how Alexander found out about that particular aspect of him. 

"If your nemesis knows, why can’t the world?" When was the last time Thomas thought of Alexander as his nemesis, really? He can't quite recall, and it feels a little as though John is suspiciously prodding at him. Does he suspect something? Did Alexander tell him about what they've done? About the wedding? About the talks?

(He confessed to James after two weeks tops, so really, he has no right to be upset at the prospect.)

Thomas considers it for a while. "I am scared to do it, that is all. Really there is nothing holding me back anymore but fear."

John’s face softens, just a little bit. He remains guarded. "I’ll do it if you do it, Thomas, that’s my final say on the matter."

His eyes flit to the flower on Thomas’ desk, and his stony façade falls. "Shit, today’s the 30th, isn’t it? I’m sorry, I forgot."

"I appreciate the sentiment." The last time they spoke was at Martha’s funeral. God, how did this spite drag on for so many years? "Where’d you find a daisy in October?" John furrows his brows.

"Oh, I didn’t. Hamilton got it for me," Thomas says without thinking, watches as a spectacular look of confusion settles on John’s face. Then he excuses himself.

+

The color scheme for the campaign is blue, for two reasons. Their company’s color is a nice tone of blue, and most pride flags, it appears, have a blue or blue-ish aspect to them. Thomas watches as Peggy, clad in a soft, sky blue t-shirt, sits in a chair as a make-up artist paints a little Trans pride flag onto her cheek. White and pink and blue. She looks unbelievably happy, admiring herself in the mirror and touching her face reverently. 

"It's a really nice sentiment, Thomas, but I really think you should have used my slogan," she insists. 

"Peggy, we can't write 'equality is de WAI to go' on the posters, we've been over this," Thomas retorts, nudging her shoulder. 

"Sometimes I feel like none of you appreciate my creative input, I swear to god." She shakes her head, playing at being disappointed. 

"We appreciate you, don't get greedy," Thomas had joked and earned himself a playful shove. Peggy demands that they take a few selfies together, for her extensive social media platforms, going as far as rolling her eyes when Thomas reminds her that she can't reveal the campaign yet. "Half of my feed is about Trans pride, Thomas, really, cut me some slack. This isn't the first time I've had it painted on my cheek."

Nathan Hale, the intern, is wearing a white shirt and has a smattering of black, grey, white and purple on his cheek. It suits his unbelievably blonde hair. Maria, the woman Alex mentioned, has a rainbow on her cheek, and bright red lipstick that complements the dark blue of her shirt. 

Albert really outdid himself with the color concepts that Thomas gave him to work with, even as he spent multiple weeks grumbling in German. " _Farbenlehre, gottverdammte, seh' ich aus wie Goethe?_ " and " _Einmal in meinem Leben hätt' Ich gern 'ne Aufgabe die mich an mei' Grenzen bringt samma_."

John is talking to Alex animatedly when Thomas approaches them. It almost looks like he is chewing him out, if Alex's look of guilt is anything to go by. Thomas can't catch what they are speaking of because John promptly falls silent upon his approach, and Alexander follows suit. He faces the full extent of John's freckles as he looks at him expectantly. Alex is already in make-up, sporting a nice dark blue shirt along with the purple, pink and blue on his face. It looks so adorable that it almost isn't fair. 

"Is that a yes I see in your eyes, Mr. Jefferson?"

Thomas nods. John lets out a slow whistle. "Best get into a makeup chair then, hm? I'll leave you to it." And just like that he is off, leaving Alex and Thomas standing in a corner, all alone. 

Alexander looks at him, a bit wondrously. Then the moment is broken. He holds up a palette of face paint, suggestively. "Are you really doing this?"

"Can’t say I’m not still scared, but I suppose I am, yes."

"Looks like we’ll be matching today, then," Alex grins and Thomas wants to reach out to him, wants to tell him that he doesn’t care if they just have fun. Only he does care, and this is the right thing to do, right? Distance. It would be unfair for him to demand that Alex commit to him when he clearly isn't ready for a relationship. It would only hurt Thomas in the long run. This is only right. 

He doesn’t expect Alex to dab his fingers in the paint and smear it over his cheekbones. "Should have been a painter," Alex says wistfully as his eyes linger on Thomas. His touch is tentative, too intimate for this office setting, too intimate for Thomas to take, but he can't say anything, is too stunned to move, too fascinated by the concentration on Alexander's face. "Maybe Trumbull needs an apprentice," Thomas suggests, voice thick despite his best efforts not to show how much this proximity affects him.

Alex laughs, and shoos him towards the actual make-up artists. When Thomas looks into the mirror he sees that Alexander has drawn a little blue heart on his cheek and suddenly his throat feels overly tight. 

+

Washington beholds the final products as Thomas sits in his office, trying not to show how nervous this makes him. "We'll have to wait until after New Year's to release these. They don't fit with the Holiday-season work Angelica is doing. Very aesthetically pleasing though, Thomas, I’ll admit it."

"I am sensing a but in there, somewhere," Thomas prompts, readying himself for another disagreement. He has fought Washington tooth and nail on this, that is to say, as much as he can without risking a jobless future. 

"But it does make me wonder why you are doing this," Washington sighs. 

"Excuse me?"

"None of your work in France suggests widening the marketing demographic was one of your priorities," Washington remarks. "And the company outreach was well-established. This is a damn risk, and you know it."

"Compromise," Thomas shrugs, leaning back in his seat. "I got the financial budget I wanted."

"Somehow though, it seems to me, that Mr. Hamilton got more than he gave."

Thomas swallows heavily, because he knows exactly just how much Hamilton got. But somehow he can’t find it in himself to be mad about it. Above all, he is a man of ideals, and this was the right thing to do.

"Oh, don't look so glum about it, Thomas. I never expected the two of you to actually cooperate without some incentive. I'm sure we'll be back to cabinet battles in no time. Maybe this time he'll get the shorter end of the stick."

"I doubt it," Thomas murmurs, "Hamilton has a way of getting what he wants. He's quite, uh, _tenacious_."

"My, my, Thomas, coming from you that almost sounds like praise." 

+

Washington is right, things do go back to normal as soon as the work for his campaign wraps up. It is now ready to go and all Thomas has to do is wait until New Year's. November turns into December and the office slowly turns into a Christmas wonderland. First, Albert places a  _Tannenbaum_ and  _Nikolausstiefel_ on his desk, before presenting Thomas with an  _"Adventskalender,_ Mr. Jefferson, you open one door a day." It's a nice gesture and something to look forward to each morning. The chocolate flavors are sometimes adventurous, but then again, variety is the spice of life, isn't it? 

He is of a mind to complain when someone starts putting up mistletoe all over the office, after it leaves him stranded with at least seven different women on increasingly mandatory trips to HR. 

He thinks, or rather, he hopes Washington will put a stop to it when he gets caught beneath one with Henry Knox. It was Washington, after all, who rigorously enforced the non-fraternization rules. But Washington, 'In the spirit of our imminent marketing campaign',  grabs Knox by the lapels and plants one on him. It leaves Knox stammering something, face red in embarrassment, when the entire bullpen hoots and cheers. 

Adams gets caught beneath the mistletoe with Angelica and they exchange cheek kisses. No one seems to mind, except Thomas, who lives in constant fear that he will be caught beneath it with Alexander in front of everyone. But Hamilton seems to avoid the things like the plague, until one day he and Laurens land beneath one, as Hercules is visiting his boyfriend. 

Alexander raises an eyebrow at Hercules, who laughs, makes a sweeping gesture with his hand and says, "By all means, the people are hungry for entertainment." John doesn't have to be told twice. His hand fists into Alexander's hair and Thomas knows exactly what that feels like. It isn't exactly a chaste kiss either, and Thomas watches Alexander's eyes flutter close even as he smiles against John's mouth. Oh yeah, they've definitely fucked before, Thomas scowls.

They pull apart and John cuddles into Hercules as the whole group laughs. And Thomas tells himself that he doesn't care, as he watches the exchange from the corner of the room. Until Alexander's eyes land on him and he finds himself unable to breathe. 

+

The inevitable happens when he stays overtime one night, well past eight o'clock. He decides to make a final trip to the break room, get his lunch out of the fridge, and then finally go home. The office is deadly quiet, most of the lights are already off. Alexander steps out of the room just as Thomas is about to enter and they collide, automatically reaching out to steady one another. Alex clears his throat. 

"Well, this is awkward," he says, looking up at the mistletoe. Thomas glances upwards as well, cheeks burning. They should just pull away from one another. There's no one watching, no one to jeer at them if they ignore this tradition. It's just a stupid piece of plant, Thomas thinks, and he could really just tear it down and pretend this never happened. Maybe he'll stay a little longer, just to make sure he manages to take down every single-

"Allow me," Alex says quickly, pulling Thomas down by his tie to press a chaste, if perhaps lingering kiss high up on his cheek. Then he clears his throat again, gives Thomas a tight smile, and wedges past him out of the door.

James springs to mind, more specifically James' words. He never did ask Alexander what he wants.

Thomas doesn't think when he grabs for his hand. He doesn't think when he sees Alexander look at him, confused and with pleading brown eyes. He doesn't think when he pulls him back, tightly against him. He doesn't think when he kisses him, hungrily and pouring every bit of longing from the last few months into it.

Alex melts into his embrace, presses tight against him, lets Thomas pin him against the door frame, lets out a needy whimper when one of Thomas' hands reaches into his hair, open today. And then Alexander kisses back, passionately, like a man starved for too long and gorging himself on the taste of Thomas' lips. Alexander's skillful hands are already busying themselves with Thomas' buttons, reaching inside of his shirt to run across his skin, scorching him and leaving him groaning into Alexander's mouth. More, more, more, Thomas wants to demand, wants to hold Alexander in his arms, wants to slide into him and-

Unwilling to let the kiss end but fully aware that he has to breathe, Thomas pulls away reluctantly. Alex is staring up at him with such vulnerable eyes that he can't get a single word out. 

"We're still-" Alex says, voice breaking, "We still want different things, don't we? You still want me to stay away."

"You tell me," Thomas breathes out, finally taking James' advice, "Ball is in your court, Alex, as far as I am concerned. I've made what I want abundantly clear, I should think."

He leaves Alexander slumped against the door frame, hard though it may be. It, in this case referring to the action and not to whatever is happening in his pants. Definitely not.

+

Thomas doesn’t expect to see John Laurens seek out his office ever again, but here the man is, knocking politely, just after New Year's. (He spent it getting drunk with James and stubbornly refusing to admit that something happened beneath a certain mistletoe that has, mercifully, disappeared.) He hands Thomas a purple envelope. 

"Dare I guess this has something to do with the flashy ring on your finger?" Thomas wonders, raising an eyebrow. John looks at his hand, fondly. Thomas offers his congratulations, sincerely. He is happy for John. Someone ought to find happiness, after all, if it can't be Thomas. 

"Just stick to the color scheme, Thomas," John blushes. Purple. That should be easy.

"Why are you inviting me, John? I hope it isn’t because you feel like you need to."

"Well, Thomas, we were very close for a long time, and if you think I never missed you in the last five years you are very wrong. Consider it an olive branch for a fresh start," John sighs.

Life is full of surprises, it seems.

"Also, Alex will obviously be there, as my best man, and I really think the two of you need to talk about whatever happened between you, because he is refusing to even acknowledge that something did happen."

+

John and Hercules’ engagement party location is a wonderful rooftop bar that overlooks most of the city. There's a balcony too, although on account of the icy weather people are mostly huddled inside. Angelica and Church are busily talking with the couple, probably exchanging planning details. Angelica’s wedding is in spring, Hercules and John prefer a summer wedding. There’s a little too much domestic bliss for Thomas, and he excuses himself to wander off to a different balcony, away from the party.

Someone clears his throat behind him, and Thomas sees Hamilton staring at him, cosmopolitan in one hand and a beer in the other. "That suit is ridiculous, still," he smiles. Thomas rolls his eyes. He loves this purple suit and he will own it until it tears beyond repair. And then, just to spite Alexander, he will have another one made, just like it. "Alright, if fashion icon Alexander Hamilton says so, perhaps I should get rid of it."

"You know I wouldn’t be averse to you taking it off, but I think we’re fresh out of hangers, so best not risk it, could crumple, we wouldn't want that," Hamilton laughs as he pushes the cocktail into his hand. Thomas feels his cheeks redden and turns back to the skyline.

"Is there a reason you’re out here with me, Alexander?" He thinks back to the last time they talked, shortly before Christmas. Well, not much in the way of talking. But after the kiss Alexander took two weeks off work to get rid of overtime. Washington seemed borderline shell-shocked when he found out Alex had voluntarily taken time off. Thomas tried his hand and failed at not being disappointed.

Alexander smiles up at him and Thomas feels his heart stop for a second. "Nelson Jr. asked me if you were seeing anyone," he grins up at him.

"And you said?" Thomas raises an eyebrow.

"Something along the lines of ‘how the fuck should I know if Jefferson is dating anyone?’," Alex plays with his fingernails, uncertainty evident in his movements.

"I’m still not," Thomas sighs, "Although I have received a surprising amount of messages from old friends since the posters were released."

Alex laughs, "I don’t doubt it for a second. Anyone who doesn’t work with you would be unable to resist."

"If that’s supposed to be a dig at my business strategies, it isn’t a very good one, Alex," Thomas smiles.

"Bad strategies don’t deserve good digs," Alex retorts, grinning self-sufficiently. Thomas walked right into that one, he isn't above admitting it.

"Alex, listen," Thomas starts, unsure where he wants the sentence to go but knowing that he has to say _something_. Alex raises his hands defensively. "Keeping my distance," he assures him, "No need to worry. Can’t imagine how we’d make it work anyway, now that we have no reason to get along for the sake of convincing Washington."

Thomas feels unbearably hot beneath his collar, despite the winter chill. Does that mean Alex has thought about it? Is that what he is trying to say? When Thomas had said that the ball is in his court, he didn't expect Alexander to actually consider a relationship. 

He wants to say something, anything, that will make Alex understand how badly he wants for them to find a way to _make it work_ , as he said.

"Does that mean you've, uh, thought about it?"

"I have, Thomas," Alex rubs his eyes, exhausted. "There's obviously something there, between us, more than what made us fall into bed together in the first place. But I, well-" Thomas watches with growing anxiety as the Alexander Hamilton struggles to find words "-Every relationship I've ever had has gone up into all-consuming flames, and the only one I managed to hang onto was Eliza, because she is the kindest and sweetest person in the entire world, but even then-, Well, I wasn't enough. And I don't think I could bear looking at you every day, working with you, after we inevitably turn to dust and go back to despising one another."

Thomas feels his heart lurch in his chest.

"If that's your final answer, Alex, then I will respect it."

"You should go talk to Nelson, Thomas," Alex’s face softens, "He seems like a good guy."

"Are you trying to set me up?"

"Purely selfish reasons," Alex grins, "Being in love might distract you enough for me to get the upper hand again."

Doesn’t Thomas know it.

"I’m afraid I’ll have to disappoint Nelson," Thomas sighs, "Wouldn’t be fair to him."

Alex sighs, regretfully, "Nothing to be done about that, then."

"So it seems," Thomas observes Alex. Neither man really knows what to say and the silence is unbearably heavy. "Well, at the risk of sounding Machiavellian," Alex finds words again after a few minutes, "I hope whoever catches your eye makes you happy enough to benefit the finance department."

Thomas laughs.

"But if-" Alex starts, then cuts himself off. 

"Yes?" Hope is a fickle thing. 

"I would like to see if we can stop with keeping our distance, Thomas. I like talking to you. I like arguing with you and stuff." Alex doesn't give Thomas a chance to respond before he returns to his usual pace of speech. "Now I’ve got to be heading back inside. Best man duties and all," Alex says, eyes pleading with Thomas again. Thomas nods. 

Alex leaves him standing on the balcony, sipping his cosmopolitan in that damned purple suit that started the whole thing, wondering if he should allow hope or squash it. 

Work starts up again, both men fall into a routine that isn't quite comfortable, but bearable at least. 

Still, in the back of his head, Thomas is acutely aware of the fact that they are running on borrowed time. Sooner or later something will have to give. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I could draw I would have shown you concept art for the campaign, but I can't so here we are, concept-art-less and sad
> 
> The GERMAN:  
> -"Farbenlehre, gottverdamte, seh' ich aus wie Goethe?" and "Einmal in meinem Leben hätt' Ich gern 'ne Aufgabe die mich an mei' Grenzen bringt samma." Meaning: Color-lessons, goddamn, do I look like Goethe? , refers to one of his lesser known works on colors, I stg. and: Once in my life I would like a task that tests my limits', loosely translated.  
> \- Nikolausstiefel is a tradition in German-speaking countries where on december 6th you clean your boots and have them filled with candy. Kind of like a christmas stocking, if you think about it, but with shoes.  
> -Tannenbaum is a christmas tree  
> -Adventskalender is like a little countdown to the 24th, where you open one door a day and get a little surprise. They've got all kinds of options, like tea, chocolate or even little toys. 
> 
> I want to thank everyone who read my first attempt at a Jamilton romance, and hope y'all stick around for those to come. It's been a blast <3


End file.
